


nsfw drabbles

by phobiaDeficient (TheTriggeredHappy)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 113,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/phobiaDeficient
Summary: chapters are titled with the ship, will be updated whenever I have a solid number of requests to transfer over from tumblr. nsfw blog is phobiadeficient and we don't have shame
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	1. Sniper/Scout, Crossfaction Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[Formatting notes, feel free to skip:
> 
> unlike the sfw archive bank i have, i won't be leaving in the asks themselves for these since they're nsfw and i value people's privacy and ability to send requests to a nsfw blog without being put on blast, and i won't be putting my out-of-drabble responses because they probably won't make sense without context half the time. however i will be leaving warnings in the chapter notes before every request. if there's any additional warnings needed, feel free to comment or send an ask to me on tumblr at phobiadeficient (the nsfw blog) or thetriggeredhappy.
> 
> note that as mentioned across several non-fic posts on the blog, every ficlet is written as either implicitly or explicitly taking place in a situation of clearly understood consent, including and especially in more hardcore scenes.
> 
> for some of the requests, there was some kind of follow-up, and in those cases i'll be putting them in the same chapter (since most are pretty short anyways).
> 
> enjoy!]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for initial mutual aggressive behavior)

“Bloody—slow down!” Sniper growled, fisting his hand into baby-blue fabric and pulling hard to get himself some distance.

“I’ll slow down when—“ the Scout shut up momentarily as he was flipped against the wall and their lips met again, half sloppy and half frantic, his own hands gripping first at the vest, then slipping below it to grip at a bright red collar. “—I’ll fuckin’ slow down when we get more than one night every two fuckin’ weeks to—“ Another kiss, and he groaned into it, couldn’t stop himself. “—to see each, to, fuck, do that again.”

Sniper obliged, biting harder than was maybe completely wise just below the Scout’s ear just to get his voice to crack again. “We’ll work on it, but in the meantime there’s only one hotel in a hundred kilometer radius of us and I’d rather we not get kicked out of it on a noise complaint because you keep slamming me into walls,” he growled.

“Hypocrite,” Scout all but spat, only to half-melt again as Sniper bit him again with those sharp teeth of his. “Fuck. I can’t—I can’t stand this, I’m gonna go fuckin’ nuts, we can just—I’ll sneak over to your base after hours, we can go to bars on weekdays, I’ll fuckin’ call you, but I can’t stand this anymore!”

Usually this level of sappiness was reserved for after round two. The BLU was clearly serious about this. “Look, only five months left until your contract is over, only eight until I’m done with mine,” he reminded, and he hated that his voice was threatening to break. “But until then, you know what happens if we get caught.”

“Terminate our contracts, then terminate us, I get it,” Scout snapped. “I just—fuck. I don’t care, I don’t even care, just get back to kissin’ me. We’ve only got all night.”

He did, meanwhile trying to pull Scout in the direction of the nearest of the two twin beds, a necessity of them even getting a hotel room in the first place. He knew it was only something like ten steps between the door and the bed, but it felt longer every time, tripping over their bags, Scout’s heel catching on the doorframe leading into the bathroom, them stumbling and barely catching themselves in time.

In no time, in moments, in an eternity, he had the other man on the bed, writhing beneath him, then on top of him.

“Will you bloody well hold still?” Sniper managed, flipping him onto his back again and going back to peeling off his shirt, uncomfortable with how it looked contrasted against his own.

“No, so you’d better make me,” Scout challenged, a raw, angry kind of desperation there in his eyes, and Sniper obliged, leaning to his bag and pulling from it the length of rope he’d started bringing. In no time at all—in far too long—Scout’s arms were bound to the creaky headboard. “And I—I’m not gonna shut up, neither.”

Pause, for only a moment, from the Sniper, halfway from unbuttoning his own shirt. For thinking, for a pang in his chest. “I’m not gagging you,” he decided aloud. “You’re upset. That’s not what you need right now.”

“How do you know what I need?” Scout challenged through clenched teeth.

“I am what you need, according to you,” Sniper snapped right back, and smoothed hands down Scout’s chest, immediately pulling back on his anger. “You need to feel taken care of.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Scout asked, still petulant, argumentative, even half-naked and tied up beneath someone who was technically his enemy.

“By taking care of you,” Sniper replied, and leaned down to kiss just below Scout’s navel.

He jumped at the contact, and shifted uncertainly as Sniper didn’t move to strip himself any further, instead moving to pop open the button on Scout’s pants. He pulled them a short way down his legs before remembering himself and moving to instead work off his shoes and socks first, then returning to try again. He pressed an indulgent kiss to the inside of one knee on his way back up, then sat himself between Scout’s spread legs again, hands tracing across his chest and making him shiver in a way he only knew thanks to experience.

“I care about you,” Sniper finally said softly, and Scout’s breath hitched, expression scrunching back up again, this time not in anger. “And I’m sorry we can’t see each other more, and I wish we could spent longer together, and…” His voice caught, the words still uncomfortably fresh and raw. “And I love you.”

Scout’s breathing was shaky, and he had to look up at the ceiling, unable to respond for a few moments. “I love you too,” he finally managed, choked.

“Now I’m gonna make you feel good. And if you need me to stop, I’ll stop. Any time you feel like,” Sniper reminded him. “As soon as you say.”

“I know,” Scout half-whispered, volume low and voice weak despite his best efforts.

Sniper kissed him on the navel again as he flipped Scout’s briefs down, and a mouth sealed over his head and a moment’s work were all it took to bridge the gap between interested and desperate, Scout leaking onto his tongue in moments and making Sniper groan despite himself.

Usually, if he had his mouth available, Scout was running it. Talking dirty, praising, demeaning, whatever his mood called for. But just then, he didn’t speak at all, just occasionally groaning, breathing in unsteady little almost-sobs, seeming choked. But he didn’t cry, managing to keep hold of himself, probably aware that the second a tear fell, Sniper would be up and trying to comfort him, stopping everything in its tracks, and he didn’t want that.

It wasn’t up until right before he finished, his hips jittering, legs trembling on either side of Sniper’s torso, that he finally spoke, and it was a plead. “God, just fuck me!” he begged, voice broken.

Sniper pulled back, careful, kissed Scout on one thigh before he spoke. “Love, you wouldn’t last,” he pointed out.

“I don’t care!” Scout declared, starting to tug at his bonds now.

“I do. Because I’m not going to hurt you,” Sniper said sternly.

“Yeah, that’s just for during the week, huh?!” Scout snapped, and was that desperation, or was it hysteria?

Sniper exhaled, stroking down the outside of Scout’s thighs. “Please. Just let me do this for you,” Sniper urged, or maybe just asked, and Scout needed a few seconds to compose himself before he finally nodded, managing a verbal yes a few seconds later.

Sniper went to the effort of slicking up two fingers to idly stroke Scout open, more to get him to gasp and moan than to get him ready for anything, finding and torturing his prostate with practiced motions as he sent the other man careening towards the edge at top speed.

When he finished, it was with a sob, then half-stammered and largely unintelligible words, trying to jerk his hips up into Sniper’s mouth, which he allowed, albeit with a good deal of concentration to not gag or choke. As he wound down, and Sniper pulled away, he opened his eyes and saw that Scout was fighting hard with his expression.

He moved up and untied Scout, and within a moment he was being held close, Scout starting to shiver in earnest, a sweaty forehead against his neck. They didn’t speak for a few seconds—they both knew the drill. A little bit to recupricate, then they’d decide how Sniper would get off. Given Scout’s mood, he had a feeling it would end up being something like Scout shoving him up against the headboard and riding him until he forgot how to use adjectives. He was still hard, but it was a non-present sort of thing. He’d waited two weeks, he could wait five more minutes.

“I’m cold, Mick,” Scout murmured into his shoulder, voice so terribly small, and Sniper didn’t waste a moment to reach over and pull the other half of the bedding over their bodies, squeezing Scout closer for the few moments it would take before they warmed the blanket around them. Scout was starting to suck a mark into his neck just above his collarbone, so surely he was at least a little ways back into his own head, but he did sniffle lightly every now and then. “Eight months,” Scout murmured, more quietly than he ever got outside of Sniper’s hold.

“Two hundred and thirty-six days,” Sniper confirmed, kissing him on the head.

“You’re counting?” Scout asked, laughing a little.

“Of course I am,” Sniper said, tone dead serious, and that got Scout to sigh, curling in that much closer.

“Yeah,” he said. “A hundred and forty-nine days.”


	2. Engineer/Spy, Troublemaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for mention of canon-typical violence)

As a legacy Engineer, there were a few values that Dell Conagher had instilled very deeply in him from a young age. First, to always put logic first. Second, to never cross an employer. The third and last, never trust a Spy—no matter what team he was on.

So when he turned to his dispenser to pull from it the next bundle of scrap and saw Spy lounging against it and peering at him with those piercing eyes of his, he was almost immediately suspicious.

“What’re you doin’ around here?” he asked first, voice quiet, only putting aside the trouble of shooting him in the foot as a Spycheck because he’d seen the RED rat burnt to a crisp right in front of him not twenty seconds previously. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Oh, but of course,” Spy agreed, not shifting in the slightest. “However, I do need healing and ammunition every now and then, you know.”

Engie looked up at him from where he was restocking the rocket ammo on his sentry. He wasn’t moving to reload his gun, and he didn’t appear to have any wounds on him. “Is that right?” he asked dully.

He whipped his head around as his sentry beeped suddenly, shooting a barrage and putting the Scout running by full of holes, dead before he even hit the ground. He moved to restock the bullets and rockets again, sparing a glance to the teleporter around the corner from them to check for damages. There were none.

“Indeed,” Spy said easily. “And it’s refreshing to be able to do so in such a safe and secluded location. Even our own team doesn’t seem to come by here very often.”

The Engineer narrowed eyes, wondering exactly how long Spy had been standing around out of sight and watching him to learn such a thing. “Suppose you’re right,” he agreed, continuing to fiddle with the ammo stock for a few seconds just so he wouldn’t have to look at Spy.

But a few moments of silence were all it took to make him look up again, and when he did, he found that Spy had moved to lounge on his side of the dispenser, the movement silent and catching him off guard. “And I must say, the show I get for stopping here is well worth a bit of fragmentation to one leg,” he said, and damn him, but the Engineer flushed.

He just scoffed, turning back to his sentry again. The enemy Soldier and Medic dropped into view, and spun wildly as they tried to figure out where the sentry assaulting them was. The Soldier shot a few messy rockets in its direction, all of them missing, before he was gunned down, the Medic following shortly behind as he attempted a hasty retreat.

Engie breathed a sigh of relief, moving to restock the ammo and turning around to stock back up again. Spy was still lounged there, just looking at him. “…’Scuse me,” he said, waiting for him to step out of his way.

“Not at all,” he said, raising an eyebrow at him, not moving in the slightest. Oh, god damn it. Spy was having one of his _troublemaking_ days.

He sighed, not rising to the bait, simply bending slightly and reaching around Spy to get the ammunition he was looking for. Then he felt a sneaky gloved hand pinch him on one cheek and he was up in a flash, swinging his jag with no small amount of ire, but Spy was already cloaking and side-stepping with a cackle, clearly very much enjoying that particular reaction. “Damn rat,” he grumbled, snatching up the ammo and practically stomping back to his sentry.

He’d only just started to prime it with more rockets when he felt a body against his back, smoky breath chuckled against his ear. “Now, there is no need for _name-calling_ , dear Laborer,” Spy teased, and the Engineer went tense.

“Spy,” he said sharply in warning, and jumped when his only reply was a pair of lips trailing up the exposed back of his neck. “ _Spy._ I’m trying to concentrate on doing my damn _job_. I don’t have—“ He hated himself for the way he shivered when invisible teeth nipped at the line of his jaw, at his earlobe. “I don’t have time for these shenanigans.”

“By all means, go on. Attend to your little guns,” Spy said innocently in counterpoint to the hands now trailing up his biceps, as light as the breath continuing to ghost along his neck.

Engineer gritted his teeth, moving to restock the ammo in nearly mechanical motions. He jumped as he felt lips against the shell of his ear again, fumbling several bullets and sending them clinking to the ground with a curse.

“What’s wrong, _mon cher?”_ Spy asked, audibly smirking. “You seem distracted.”

He was. Because Spy was starting to lave attention around his neck, nipping over his pulse point, trying to suck a mark against the topmost part of his spine, and he caught himself just gripping the sentry in front of him instead of moving to reload ammo, and he swore again, shifting backwards into Spy’s attentions in a moment of weakness. The shift pressed Spy’s hips into his backside, and he could feel all of a sudden how much Spy was _enjoying_ this. He purred approval in French against his cheek, rocking forward to meet him, chest against his back, and Engie swallowed to collect himself.

“Not here,” he said all of a sudden. “Don’t be a damn fool, Spy, we could get spotted in a heartbeat, never _mind_ if someone tries to come attack my sentry—“

“Mm-hmm?” Spy hummed, a hand trailing down his side to lay at his hip.

“We’ll get _caught,”_ he hissed, tone dropping as he heard the teleporter firing up out of sight, a teammate running out of it and away somewhere, probably to _do their job._

“I disagree,” Spy said lightly, other hand lowering to pinch Engie again, making him release a rather undignified noise. “Especially if we move, oh, twenty feet or so to a more secluded location, and if you manage to get ahold of yourself.”

He knew he was being baited. He knew it was bait. But the part of his mind that knew it was bait was rapidly being overwhelmed by the part that was drowning in the smell of smoke and cologne, in the feel of leather-clad hands drawing patterns against his hips, in soft lips against the rough stubble of his jaw and neck, grazing teeth every few moments just for the contrast of feeling.

“Fine,” he panted, “damn it, fine, let’s just make this quick.”

He was quickly guided backwards, through a seldom-used door that was quickly barricaded with what else but his own body as he was pushed back up against it, crowded back by a lean chest and an almost feline grin.

He didn’t know quite what to expect, but Spy unhooking the straps of his overalls and pulling them straight down to his lower thighs—when had he gotten his belt undone?—and promptly sinking to his knees wasn’t it. He moved to seal his mouth over the already considerable bulge at the front of the Engineer’s briefs, making him inhale sharply, before giving it a quick parting kiss and moving to pull the briefs down to accompany his overalls. He hummed appraisingly, almost in approval, and it made the Engineer’s head fall back, face flushing.

A quick tug to his shirt had him looking down again, and he saw Spy looking up at him with a rather stern expression, tugging off his gloves in practiced motions. “Look at me,” he said, half a demand and half a pout, and both halves appealed to him enough that he swallowed back his embarrassment and did so, catching in his throat as Spy leaned in and took hold of his erection, pressing a few testing licks to the head. He had to bite back a noise at that, just moving to place his hands on Spy’s masked head, earning a hum of approval, which _really_ made him have to bite back a noise.

One could say a lot of things about the Spy, but they couldn’t call him inexperienced in the bedroom. The Engineer considered his stamina to be more than respectable, but Spy was pulling out all his best and most favorite moves one after another, and putting on quite the show while doing it, and not for the first time with this particular partner did the Engineer start to question himself a little bit, the only logical thought process going through his head by then, the rest of his mind having fallen away into useless, wordless _wanting._

“Spy,” he managed to pant in warning when Spy made another little noise against him, driving him towards the edge at a breakneck pace, blinking his eyes open (when had they closed?) to look down at him. What he saw was dizzying, made his breath catch in his throat.

At some point, Spy had quietly worked his belt and pants open and was stroking himself off, eyes hanging low, practically just slits as he peered up at the Engineer wantonly. He released a low groan as Engineer made eye contact, eyes fluttering, and that was it for him. He panted out a warning, thighs jittering, and came down Spy’s throat. Spy accepted it eagerly, and pulled back when Engie was done, forehead pressed against Engie’s hip, panting hard as he came too moments later, splattering the ground between Engie’s feet.

Quiet, for long moments, sweat starting to cool in the wake of their mutual orgasms. He bent enough to shuffle his underwear back into place, hiking his overalls up at least to his hips to gain some modesty.

“Oh dear,” Spy said lightly, and when he glanced down he saw that he had redressed up until his gloves and was looking at the Engineer’s PDA, when had he even taken that—? “It would seem your sentry, dispenser, and exit teleporter are all down. What a shame.”

A few more moments of breathing heavily, his eyes narrowing as realization crept into his periphery. “You sneaky son of a bitch,” he growled, and saw the way Spy smirked as he tucked his PDA back into place. He seized his jag in one hand, and Spy took that as his cue to cloak. Engineer half expected his grin to be the last thing to fade from view, but it wasn’t, it was his hand, moving up to wipe at his mouth in a filthy little motion.

“Damn rat,” he said, pointedly raising his voice to make sure that Spy would hear him, and went about getting dressed again. He’d pay for that later. The Engineer would make sure of it.


	3. Sniper/Scout, Panting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

It was odd, mostly because this was the only context he usually heard Scout panting in.

He ran for a living, cardio was sort of a thing he _had_ to be trained to deal with, and he generally wasn’t running around for more than a few minutes at a time anyways, taken down before he could get too badly winded.

And here he was, breath coming fast through parted lips, hitching for a moment as he gulped hard and lurched closer to Sniper from his place sitting on the man’s lap.

He’d really started pulling the kid apart at some point, somewhere between the kissing him until his head spun and the rubbing his thumb against that real nice place right under the head of his cock that always made him whine like he’d break down into tears if Sniper didn’t give him more, please, more of anything, anything at all.

“Please,” he whined, voice weak, cracking apart just a little bit. “Please, please, I, I dunno what you want from me, what do you want, please, anything—“

He didn’t shift his pace, not even a little bit. Scout’s pleads rose and fell in volume, and his eyes were squeezed shut, hands gripping the back of his shirt tightly, so tightly that his arms trembled. And he was desperate nearly to his breaking point, but he was following directions still, being good, not once touching himself or moving them along. Sniper had been right—Scout put on a big show of being too tough and cool for everyone else, ego of iron and all that, but deep down he was always desperate to please. He wanted so bad to get praised, so bad that he was willing to endure this borderline torture just to hear—

“Good boy,” Sniper purred, and Scout groaned, tension seeping out of him in a wave, hips jerking almost despite himself. “Look so good for me. You can hold out a little longer, can’t you?”

He nodded so quickly, as if it was gone from his mind entirely how desperate he had been just a moment before, washed away by even the simplest of praises, limbs suddenly loose, the only part of him staying tense being the part stretching from his lower stomach down to his mid-thighs. “I can—I—I can hold out. I can do it. I can,” he assured.

“Mmm. You know, it feels so much better when you wait for it,” he said, tone almost casual if not for the way he had his voice down so very low. “When you keep getting pulled to the edge. When you really work for it.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, and he was blinking open his eyes, and they were dim with pleasure, damp with desperation, pupils blown wide. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed, and for the briefest moment he moved his free hand to rub rough circles against Scout’s nipple, making him arch in a lovely little way, eyes fluttering closed again as he gasped and gasped and _gasped_. “And you want me to make you feel good, don’t you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah I do, oh god don’t fuckin’— _mmmh!_ —don’t stop, please, oh my god—“

“Good boy,” he praised again, and that dragged Scout up all the higher, and he switched to the other side of his chest just to watch the way his toes curled, just to feel his dick twitch in his hand, hard and long past ready to spill but woefully understimulated, waiting for any sort of real contact.

He didn’t know how long he could hold Scout here before the man broke. If he kept up the praise, if he kept up the teasing just right, Scout might make it longer than him. He might just have to finally pull down his boxers and stroke himself off to the sight of this handsome, nearly-naked man in his lap, outright begging for him, flushed red and desperate and wanting. Hell, if he asked him to, he bet that Scout would try to suck him off. Probably not much experience, but his enthusiasm might just make up for it. The thought of a few “good boy”s might convince him. The idea of tangling his fingers in that sandy-looking, terribly-soft hair and pulling him down further, further, the runner relaxing into his hold and groaning under the weight of being told how good he looked down there, it was good enough to make his own heart start thumping so much faster than before, boxers getting all the more snug. 

Scout hardly seemed to be in his right mind anymore, just murmuring desperate nothings past his short breath, whimpering occasionally when the exhale lined up with Sniper’s thumb dragging just right below the head of his cock. Begging mostly, pleading, bargaining, offering anything, anything at all, just don’t stop, don’t stop doing this to him, don’t stop doing whatever this was, please, please.

He kissed Scout square on the lips to shut him up, and Scout’s whine startled off into a little “oh”, the shorter man putting as much energy as he could muster into the kiss, even as he was pulled apart at the seams. Sniper pulled out all his best tricks, and Scout nearly collapsed under the weight of this overstimulation, crying out when he moved to toy with Scout’s chest again.

“Oh my god,” he groaned between presses, lips brushing Sniper’s as he spoke in a way that made his breath hitch. “Next time, I want you to fuck me.”

Sniper couldn’t help but grin a little at that. Scout had to be positively gone if he was offering something like that. “Yeah?” he asked anyways.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck yeah,” he gasped, head dropping to Sniper’s shoulder, teeth scraping over his neck absently even as his thighs trembled. “Want you to fuck me. Bet I’d look good like that too, huh?”

“Definitely,” Sniper agreed, hand sliding down his side to grip at his ass, firmly, and Scout practically yelped, and almost despite himself started rutting his hips forward in furious little jerks, wailing when Sniper released him and moved both hands to grip at his ass. “Oi, what’d I say about moving?”

Begging, downright incoherent, was his only answer, and his hips slowing nearly to a stop again.

Sniper tsk’d a few times against his pulse point. “Really, that’s the best self-control you’ve got?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

His begging tapered off into panting, interdispersed with a plead every now and then, and an apology or two. Sniper let him flail for a little while, distracting him with gentle kneading against his ass every now and then.

“Hmm. Well, either way, I think you’ve earned a treat by now,” Sniper finally admitted. “You’ve been _such_ a good boy already, especially on your first time doing this.”

Scout stopped talking entirely, waiting, breathless, for Sniper to act on his words. He cried out into the meat of Sniper’s shoulder when Sniper took hold of his dick, the first firm touch of the night.

“Maybe next time I’ll give you something to help you sit still,” Sniper offered idly, and removed his hand from Scout’s dick for only a moment to spit into his palm before he started jerking Scout off in steady, even pulls. “Maybe it’d help if I laid you out all pretty and tied your wrists to my headboard.”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Scout agreed enthusiastically, ecstatic in his pleasure, euphoria making itself clear from the cracking of his voice, sending his pitch much higher than he would ever allow except under extreme duress.

Sniper tutted again, this time against Scout’s cheek. “I’d never hold you to a promise you made when you were like this,” he chided. “Out of your right mind, you’re so desperate. Gorgeous, really, such a pretty little thing all pulled apart like this, but you’d agree to damn near anything I said right about now.”

Scout had surrendered words, and was making breathless little noises, the muscles of his legs flexing and his back starting to arch further and further. Sniper wrapped an arm around his waist to gather him close, keep him from falling off of his lap, and Scout promptly leaned into him, clinging hard to his shirt.

He was gorgeous like this. Wanton, lithe, the absolute picture of pleased submission, but far from weakness. The musculature of his legs and the sparse but still present scars on his skin were on full display, and he knew he would’ve bruised had Scout grabbed him by the arms rather than harmlessly clinging to fabric. He really was gorgeous like this, in a way that Sniper hadn’t quite expected, hadn’t thought would be reasonable to hope for. It sent a bolt of lust through him that forced him to lower his free hand briefly to pop the button of his own far-too-tight pants, adjusting himself swiftly enough that he couldn’t get distracted before promptly going back to balancing Scout again.

It was a few moments before Scout lost control of himself once more, moving his hips in tiny little jerks, practically just twitches with each pass of Sniper’s rough hand over the head of his dick, gasps punched out of him each time. Sniper let him do so, mostly because he could tell Scout was close, worked up as he was by the long tease and murmured praises he got in his ear. He pulled his hand back again to spit in it a second time, mostly just to mess with him, and Scout let out a sob against Sniper’s shoulder, euphoria only taking a second to morph into despair.

“Close?” Sniper asked almost conversationally, volume at a hum, and Scout stuttered out a breath that almost sounded like an agreement. “Good. Ready to come?” Another, even heavier breath of a similar caliber, and Sniper grinned, speeding and tightening his hand, adding on a little twist at the end just to hear Scout falling apart entirely. “Good. There’s a good boy, there’s a beauty.”

Panting. Panting. A jerk of his hips, and Sniper was slowing just slightly into longer pulls, listening to the nearly pained sounds wrenching their way free of Scout’s throat, appreciating the crush of Scout’s thighs around his hips. It was a long, intense thing, at least as far as Sniper could tell, and he tilted his head to kiss Scout again when he noticed the man clenching his teeth, coaxing him into relaxing his jaw and loosing all sorts of little noises into his mouth. One of Scout’s hands flew to his hair, anchoring there and twisting just a little to keep him in place, but he didn’t mind, enjoying the desperation, tickled by the hot breath fanning out of Scout’s nose.

Finally it was over, and Scout’s body was relaxing, and Sniper gingerly pulled his hand away, noting the whine that rose deep in Scout’s throat. Their lips pulled apart, and Scout was panting open-mouthed against his cheek, breath quick and unsteady in his chest, hiccuping occasionally. Sniper felt uneasy as he realized that there was a dampness on Scout’s cheeks and his eyelashes were clumped together a little, but Scout was still clinging to him, and as speech returned he was starting to breathe little “thank you, thank you”s over and over again, still clearly in the headspace that Sniper had coaxed him into.

His concern was enough to keep his own near-painful arousal on hold for the moment, making his breath even out just a bit where he was admittedly having a hard time ignoring his hard-on. He shifted his grasp on Scout only slightly, pressing a few lingering kisses up the side of his face, stopping at his temple, and Scout practically melted into him, although he was mindful enough not to arch their stomachs together, either due to his own oversensitivity, or the mess he’d made on his own stomach, or a combination of the two.

Scout asked him a question, lost as it was on the very tail-end of an exhale and too low in volume for Sniper to catch. “Hmm?” Sniper asked, tilting his head just a bit to try and hear a bit better.

“Can I touch you?” Scout repeated, words still wobbly, but intelligible this time.

“You _are_ touching me,” Sniper replied, humor in his tone.

Scout grumbled something at that, shifting just a little, hands drifting down Sniper’s front to rest towards the topmost part of his stomach. “I wanna get you off,” he clarified, half-drunk on afterglow. “Can I?”

“Go right ahead,” Sniper said easily, and Scout let one hand drift to press against the bulge in his pants, the other moving to hike up the front of his shirt. “Planning on jacking me off? Not even cleaning off first?”

Scout just hummed in response at first, kneading at him lightly, before he leaned back enough to grab his own boxers where they’d been discarded, mopping himself off and letting Sniper do the same to his dirtied hand. “No,” he mumbled, and Sniper thought he meant about the not cleaning up for a few moments until he added, “I wanna suck you off.”

Sniper felt his breath hitch, head swimming with lust. “Yeah?” he asked, tone light.

“Yeah. Can I?” he asked, and looked at Sniper when he said it, and there was that vulnerability, that honesty, that had been present in the begging and the pleading and the whimpering earlier, still laid bare, making Scout’s voice quiet, his movements hesitant and fidgety.

“If you’d like,” Sniper replied. Scout nodded, a little relieved, and slid back to get off of Sniper’s lap, but he caught him by the chin, tilting his face back up where he’d averted it, more than a little bashful. “Wait. But I don’t want to push you to do something you’d rather not do, especially if you’ve never done it before.”

“I’ve sucked off a guy or two,” Scout murmured, a little embarrassed, averting his eyes again.

“That right?” Sniper asked, eyebrows rising a bit.

“Yeah. I know what I’m doing,” Scout said, tilting for a moment into the hand Sniper had on his face before pulling away. “Lay down.”

Sniper did, laying back, shifting for a moment to try and get comfortable before giving in and moving to lay up against the pillows. He went to the trouble of kicking his pants off, and the second his legs were free Scout was between them, taking hold of him and starting to move his hand, getting a feel, and Sniper allowed himself a groan, head rolling back, and a second one when Scout leans down and took the head into his mouth. An idle hand pushed at Sniper’s shirt, and he obliged in at least unbuttoning it and letting it fall open, albeit with unsteady hands as Scout set into motion.

Maybe it’s because Sniper had him so exhausted, but Scout was much more patient than he usually was, taking Sniper in slow and steady, stroking what all wasn’t in his mouth. He pulled back a touch and shifted one of Sniper’s thighs open further, then he was back to it again, and something about the positioning, the slow, hot, wet heat against him, had the urgency ticking up a notch.

But Scout stayed slow and steady, bobs of his head and strokes of his hand making his arousal kick from desperation down to a thrumming kind of pleasure that had him letting up on his chokehold on his self-control. He started rolling his hips up in time, and Scout adjusted within a roll or two, taking him deeper, testing his own limits.

A gag, Scout pulling back those crucial millimeters, then trying again and getting that much further. Scout’s free hand, the one he was largely using to support himself, moved to cup at his balls and roll them in even motions, and Sniper melted further, soft noises and praises fleeing through his parted lips. The pleasure was tightening in on itself, coiling tight, and he managed something like a warning, one hand leaving its white-knuckle hold on the sheets and finding Scout’s hair, petting at it. After so long of denying himself for the sake of pulling Scout apart, he hadn’t lasted as long as he typically did, but he was still a bit impressed with his stamina. Scout quickened his pace, humming a pleased noise against him, and when he glanced down to watch he saw that Scout was looking up at him through his eyelashes, expression heady and scorching hot.

“Gorgeous,” he praised, breathless all of a sudden, and Scout’s eyebrows shifted, expression going softer, more wanting, another hum against him, low and desperate, and—

That was all it took, that look, that hum. Sniper’s hips jerked once before he got hold of himself, and Scout braced against his hips, motions shifting to meet the rhythm he rolled at as orgasm overtook him. Scout kept stroking past what Sniper generally did, wringing a few more sharp pangs and hard groans from him, and finally Sniper was pushing at his head as overwhelming pleasure gave way to oversensitivity. Scout pulled back, releasing his hold on Sniper and licking his chops obscenely, and Sniper groaned again, head falling back.

Then Scout was up lying with him, nuzzling in against Sniper’s shoulder, and he got the strength back to pull him in tighter. He distantly registered the sweat clinging to him, and to his shirt, and grumbled half-heartedly as he shrugged the rest of the way free of it, leaving himself just as bare as Scout.

For a little while, they laid there. Sniper was pretty sure Scout was going to fall asleep on him, would drift off any minute, and tried his best to stay fully awake himself so he could get up at some point and do a slightly better clean-up. He was surprised when Scout spoke, quiet into his shoulder. “You said somethin’ about a next time?” he promoted quietly, head tilting against Sniper just slightly.

Sniper huffed something like a laugh. “So did you,” he replied, carding a hand up through Scout’s hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” Scout hesitated, fidgeting a little bit. “Yeah, I wanted you to fuck me.”

Sniper felt a rush of heat. And he knew it was unreasonable to want to get it up again so quickly, but he sort of did. “So you were serious about that?”

“You… weren’t?” he asked, voice even quieter. Sniper backpedaled.

“No, ‘course, I’d love that,” he was quick to say, giving him a squeeze of reassurance. “Just… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, in the heat of the moment? And I didn’t want to hold you to anything—“

“Well, I was serious,” Scout said, sounding a little more amused. Still tired, still somewhat in that space Sniper had pushed him to—elevated him to—but amused. “So is that… on the table?”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed. “Might need to go pick up some things first, but that sounds nice.”

“Alright. Good,” Scout said, relaxing again.

Silence.

Scout asked another question after that brief silence, and Sniper very nearly choked. “What about the tying me up thing?” he asked, tone playful.

Sniper wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into, but he found himself looking forward to it.


	4. Sniper/Scout, Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for reference to rough sex)

The shower in the camper was absolutely not big enough for two people, which necessitated Sniper needing to do the majority of their clean-up with a washcloth, but that was alright. He took the kettle off before it came to a full boil and mixed some in with the lukewarm water he already had, testing the temperature idly and getting the cloth wet once he knew it wouldn’t hurt anyone. As he wrung it out, he cast a glance over towards the bed.

Scout was lying on his back, blissed out and drifty, half-asleep. He couldn’t let Scout drift too long—he might get himself into a bad headspace, and neither of them wanted that. But he just let him rest for a bit and enjoy the afterglow. Scout was still tied at the wrists, as he tended to like for at least a little bit after they were done—it kept him grounded—but Sniper knew once he started drawing him back out of the vulnerable place he’d sent him to, he’d want out as soon as possible to bundle up in a blanket.

He brought the wash cloth and the bowl of warm water over, setting the bowl to one side where it wouldn’t be knocked over or spilled and starting to get to work, going over Scout’s body with it in easy passes. It was practically a massage—something that Scout also sometimes appreciated when the scene maybe got a little too hard, leaving him straining his muscles as he fought his bonds.

Sniper moved from his arms down to his shoulders, down his chest, down his stomach, accompanied by pleased little hums from Scout as he went. When he figured it was needed, he dipped the cloth back in the water and wrung it back out again, getting it warm once more. He cleaned off where Scout had splattered all over himself—three times in one night, which wasn’t a record, but was still more than usual—and cleaned down Scout’s legs, all across his thighs and calves down to his ankles.

He saved the worst of the cleanup for last, wiping down Scout’s dick and ass in careful motions, aware that Scout was probably still sensitive and reeling a bit, the fact confirmed when Scout winced slightly at the sensation. When he was done he just put the washcloth in the bowl and put the bowl on the counter. Then, promptly, he moved to untie Scout, freeing him and pulling his arms down to inspect them.

Bruising around his wrists, which Sniper couldn’t help but sigh at, giving a brief kiss to each. Crescent-shaped marks in his palms where he’d dug his nails in, and the many, many assorted love bites along his neck and shoulders and a bit down his chest, on either thigh—damn near everywhere. Some were simply pink or red, and others were fading into darker bruises with each passing moment. As enthusiastic as Scout got about Sniper biting at him with those sharp teeth he liked so much, always asking—begging, really—for harder, for more, it was still worrying to see the marks he left behind when he actually listened.

“You bruise like a bloody peach, love,” Sniper murmured to him. Scout blinked his eyes open, expression still hazy, and looked at his wrists.

“Yeah,” he agreed simply, looking at them with some vague satisfaction, throat scorched.

Sniper stood again to go get the glass of water he’d half-forgotten about, guiding Scout to take patient sips of it, trying not to let him gulp the whole thing down in one go. “Anything hurt too much?” he asked, tone quiet and gentle. Scout was generally pretty pleased with himself after a hard scene—too exhausted for that overclocked brain of his to run him through the spiral of doubt that he so often got caught in—but he was also very easily spooked, ego even more bruisable than his freckled, only-slightly-tanned skin.

“It’s still good,” Scout assured, leaning his weight into Sniper, trying for that casual, non-sexual (or maybe just post-sexual) contact that he always craved. For the day or two after they played, Sniper could generally expect Scout to be constantly trying to lean on him or sit on his lap or hold his hand. And he wasn’t always a fan of it, had long since trained himself into a more solitary lifestyle, but he’d rather roll his eyes at Scout getting between him and his magazine than let Scout drop, mood and energy level falling sharply in the wake of sudden intensity.

It was this—the gentle caretaking, the reassurances, the physical contact, the closeness—that Scout needed the most. More than any individual part of it, he needed to know that Sniper cared about him, that Sniper would keep him safe, make sure he was alright. He said it was nice to have the glass of water, to have the first aid kit with the first-aid pills (capsules filled with the fluid from the Medigun, good for minor “injuries” like he tended to get in the heat of the moment) available after just in case, to get cleaned up and cuddled and told he was good-looking, but more than any of that, it just felt nice knowing that Sniper cared. That Sniper really, actually wanted him around, for more than just the sex.

He was a sap, through and through, but a Sniper was a sap for complying so readily, so happily, so he really had no place to judge. Maybe it was because he was a support class; who could say?

He brushed the sweaty mop of hair out of Scout’s face and kissed his temple, and Scout smiled at him, eyes full of trust. Full of love. And, maybe most importantly, clear.


	5. Sniper/Scout, Top!Scout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Bloody—lord!” Sniper hissed, shoulders tensing, a hard shiver going through him. “God. Bugger. S-slow down, alright?”

Scout immediately stalled all motion. “Shit, sorry, am I hurting you?” he asked, his general smarminess that he’d had all night fading for a moment under the weight of concern.

“No, just… don’t wanna pop too soon, just… give me a moment,” Sniper admitted, head falling.

A beat of silence before Scout chuckled, removing his hand from Sniper’s dick where he’d been pumping idly to make sure he was comfortable. “Already, huh? Guess I should do this more,” he teased, and Sniper shivered again at the lightest roll of hips.

He was on all fours, dropped onto his elbows for a more comfortable position when his wrists started complaining. Half the time, he and Scout didn’t even make it as far as proper fucking—Scout impatient or Sniper possessive pushing them to just sucking or tugging each other off like a couple of goddamn teenagers. When they did fuck, usually it was Scout riding Sniper’s dick until Sniper forgot how to speak in complete sentences, or him railing Scout into the mattress as retribution for Scout mouthing off a little too much and Scout very much enjoying the correction. It wasn’t terribly often that Scout topped, or… admittedly, that Sniper felt relaxed and secure enough to bottom. But tonight he did, and the reminder of what he was missing, for a moment, had seemed like it might be an embarrassingly short one when Scout had finally pulled his fingers out after twenty fucking minutes of teasing him open and started pushing in.

He inhaled and exhaled shakily as Scout continued his ingress, little barely-there rolls of his hips, more of a gentle coax for Sniper to open up for him than a demand, than a force. Scout generally got a real kick out of being held down and made to do what Sniper wanted, but the first time they’d switched it up he’d had a bit of a poor reaction to being forced down and since then Scout had been much, much more careful.

It was a little embarrassing, being treated so gently, but at the same time it was very, very nice.

Back in Australia, when he was younger and, admittedly, much more stupid, he’d admittedly put a frankly ridiculous amount of stock in things like the size of his partner. It was later, when he had more experience, that he realized something like that was only important with partners who were only interested in taking from him. When a partner wanted to give, well, they could be any size or shape in the world, and they’d still make him feel so much better than even the biggest taker on the planet. Scout bottomed out, kneading at Sniper’s hips with both hands to soothe him, and even though Scout was nowhere near the biggest or burliest man Sniper had ever slept with, he by far had the most enthusiasm for making Sniper feel good, and that made him easily the best, no contest at all.

Sniper steadied himself with one last breath before he murmured that he was alright, he was ready, Scout could go as soon as he felt like it, and Scout gave him an extra moment or two anyways of gentle rocking before he started in.

Alright, maybe Scout did have a little muscle, even if it was just in his legs. But bloody fuckin’ hell.

Scout shifted a few times, his first thrusts slow and gradual, adjusting their positioning a few times, trying to find the just-right angle. Pushed his thighs apart, moved his own apart to get better balance. Shifted, shifted. Sniper gasped out a noise of pleasure when Scout rolled just right, then another breather one when he rolled even righter.

“There you go,” Scout said softly, sounding damn pleased with himself, and then he properly started in.

The impact of thighs against his own, steady and powerful, a gentle but firm hold on his hips, the very light jingle as Scout’s tags bounced against his chest. Sniper barely paid attention to any of that, too focused on the pleasure that he was being steamrolled with as Scout pounded into him. His face flushed, his eyes dropped closed, his breath practically stopped. He reached out before him unsteadily to grab for one of his pillows, pushing his face into it to muffle his noises as he lost control over his voice, reduced to moaning like some two-buck moll in an alley.

He processed, distantly, that Scout was saying something to him. Praise, compliments, they washed over him, smoothing down the parts of him that were starting to get a bit panicked at the thought of being reduced to such honest reactions, at being left so weak and malleable under the force of ecstasy. And he couldn’t lift his head up from the pillow yet, couldn’t vocalize his need for more, for don’t stop, for please, but luckily he didn’t need to, Scout picking it up anyways within moments of the idea occurring to him.

It wasn’t all that long before the need to finish crowded into view. He managed to ignore it, to put it off, for only so long before his self-control slipped and he reached down to pump at himself. Scout sped his pace, and Sniper came hard moments later, resisting the urge to bite on the pillow to choke back the howl threatening to escape. He held it back, and it escaped, weaker, a moment later on an exhale as his head spun from his holding his breath.

Scout worked him through it, and pulled out when it was clear that Sniper was done, bracing a hand against his hip to balance himself as he started jerking off, his breathing half-frantic. Scout’s release splattered his thigh, and Sniper groaned at it, feeling the kind of filthy that was extremely nice for a grand total of maybe five minutes after he finished, then promptly became embarrassing.

He didn’t need to wait the five minutes, because as soon as Scout caught his breath, he started cleaning Sniper up, leaning to grab a few tissues to mop up the mess, kissing at his back and saying more sappy nonsense that he would probably die before repeating in front of another living person.

“So that was good? I didn’t, I dunno, hurt you or nothin’?” Scout asked, apparently worried by the fact that a Sniper hadn’t turned to face him yet.

“Well I can barely feel my bloody legs, so yeah Roo, I’d say you did a pretty good job,” Sniper replied, voice hoarse. “Really, damn good thing I don’t do much running around in my line of work. I’m gonna feel a right mess tomorrow, I’d bet.”

Scout laughed. “Sorry, babe,” he apologized, a little honestly embarrassed under the tint of pride.

“Well, I asked for it,” Sniper sighed, and grunted as he rolled over, looking up at Scout, expression still hazy. “And I’ll be asking for it again soon enough after that performance. Christ alive, mate.”

Up above him, Scout was positively glowing, and Sniper, damn him, couldn’t help but smile back.


	6. Sniper/Scout, Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for roughness)

“Hey, Snipes.”

He looked over his shoulder as Scout clambered the remainder of the way into the watchtower, the task clearly taking very little effort from him. Scout was out of much of his work uniform, hands bare and headset missing. The rest of his clothes were as usual, albiet somewhat ruffled from climbing a ladder. “I’m working, Scout. Leave me be,” was all he said.

“Aw, c’mon,” Scout complained, fixing his shirt and giving Sniper puppy-dog eyes.

Sniper sighed. “Alright, fine, then get over here,” he said, leaning a short distance to pick up his knife.

Scout’s expression fell. “Woah, what? Why?” he asked, eyeing the weapon.

“So I can Spycheck you. C’mere,” he said, gesturing him over with his blade.

Scout did so warily. Sniper held his free hand out as if for a handshake, and Scout took it slowly. Sniper moved to shift his grip on the knife, reaching forward and pinching him on the arm, hard.

“Ow,” Scout said, a little grumpy, flinching.

Sniper nodded, satisfied, moving to take his seat again. “What did you want?” he asked, picking back up his rifle and trying to find the position he’d been in previously.

“Well,” Scout said, hesitated for a second. “I’m fuckin’ bored, first off.”

“Now’s not a good time,” Sniper replied. “I’m on shift here until the middle of the night. Meant to watch this road and make sure nobody gets anywhere near our base.”

“Why?”

“Local authorities might be onto us. If they find the base, that’s game over. Anyone comes by, I’m meant to take them out. It’s important. So,” he shrugged, “not a good time. Run along now.”

Scout sighed, sidling up behind Sniper and draping arms around his shoulder. His hat was knocked into his eyes, and he straightened it, scowling. “You haven’t paid _any_ attention to me in _ages_ , he complained.

“We hung around each other this past weekend,” Sniper corrected him, eye still firmly down his scope.

“That was with the other guys around. I meant _attention_ attention,” Scout specified, lips finding the back of his neck to punctuate his sentence.

“Not even a full week and a half counts as ages to you, then, does it?” he asked, tone dry.

“Yeah!”

“Thought I left a pretty lasting impression last time. You sure complained enough about it,” Sniper muttered, remembering how much Scout had whined about soreness until the next time he fell under the beam of the Medigun.

“Well, now I’m back for more,” Scout said simply, kissing him a few more times. When Sniper didn’t react in the slightest, Sniper could feel him start pouting. “C’mon, Snipes. You’re really gonna leave me hangin’?”

“Yeah. I have a job to do,” Sniper agreed, not hesitating for even a moment.

“Aw, c’mon. I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” Scout goaded, one hand dropping to slide up Sniper’s thigh, finding and cupping the front of his pants.

All he got was a small jolt in the muscles of Sniper’s back. “I said no,” he replied pointedly.

Scout pouted further, moving his hand away again. “You serious?” he whined.

“Yes. Go have a wank over it, mate. Let me work,” Sniper said.

Scout paused for a few long moments. “Fine,” he replied, starting to sound a little annoyed now, and Sniper’s eyebrows furrowed as he heard the sound of a zipper directly behind him, then shot up as a series of different sounds followed.

Scout kept one arm draped around him, using it to keep his balance as he started pushing down his pants, presumably to hand around his knees since Sniper didn’t hear the belt hitting the floor. Scout raised his free hand up to his own face, spitting into his palm, the noise loud so close to Sniper’s ear and just barely visible in his periphery, and then it was gone, and he heard a series of slick sounds along side a shaky exhale from Scout.

He kept his eyes forward, watching the road.

Scout’s breath was damp and warm against his ear, only getting warmer. Soon enough he shifted a slight bit closer, nosing into Sniper’s hair as his breathing picked up, catching on an exhale, a hard swallow, catching again.

“Fuck, Snipes,” Scout breathed, tone an echo of the whine from earlier, but completely different in a new context. Sniper kept staring straight ahead. “God, fuck.”

Similar sounds and noises followed shortly after, his breath hitching on quiet, barely-there moans. Apparently, Scout was a bit quieter when he was jacking off than when he was getting fucked. Sniper blinked once, hard, clenching his eyelids with force, and went back to staring out of his scope. He shook off the thought with a great deal of effort, shutting down the mental image of Scout lying alone in his bed, panting and moaning softly. It was made harder by the fact that those sounds also existed in real life.

“God, Snipes, I want you to fuck me,” Scout moaned, lips moving against the space just behind his ear, and Sniper had to blink hard again. “Ain’t anyone on the planet who can fuck me up like you can. You always just _wreck_ me, I can barely even walk after, but it’s so good. Can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

Scout took a brief moment to latch his lips onto Sniper’s neck, just barely scraping over the skin with those big teeth of his, before he had to pull back again to breathe.

“Fuck,” he panted, voice broken. “I just want your dick real bad, babe. Up my ass, in my throat, it doesn’t matter. Anything. I just fuckin’ _want_ you.”

Sniper swallowed hard, feeling very much overheated in all of his layers. He was sweating. But he was pretty sure Scout wouldn’t notice—he felt Scout’s cheek against him, and it was damp too.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Scout breathed, unsteady, leaning hard now. “It’s fuckin’ killin’ me. Fuck, please, _fuck_ —“

“If you get cum on my back, I’m throwing you off this tower, teammate or not,” Sniper warned lowly, having heard that particular voice crack before and knowing what it meant.

Scout gave a desperate whine against the space under his ear, but his weight shifted slightly nevertheless. He made a choked-off noise, quickly biting down on the collar of Sniper’s vest, keening into it softly. He heard the sound of a drip behind him, liquid hitting the floorboards. Scout breathed heavily through his nose for a few moments, then finally detached, panting hard. He laid a few more kisses against Sniper’s neck, humming and contented.

Except not too contented, apparently, because he spoke once he had his breath back a bit. “You know I’m good for more than one round, you want in on the second one?” he asked suggestively, his grin in his voice and against Sniper’s skin in equal measure.

“No,” Sniper said calmly. “If you’re done here, run along. You’re heavy.”

Scout straightened up, scoffing, all of that irritation coming back all at once. “You fuckin’ serious right now?!” he demanded. “All that, and you’d still rather sit here and stare down a scope—“

“And do my job, which is what I’m here for, and getting paid to do, yes,” Sniper replied easily. “And I’m here for the rest of the night, so you’d best just get a move on.”

Scout made an annoyed noise, and Sniper heard him shuffling his clothes back into place, no small amount of roughness involved by the sound of it. “Fuck you, Snipes,” he all but spat.

Sniper hadn’t previously known that it was possible to stomp down a ladder. Apparently it was.

-

In the middle of battle, arms around his shoulders again.

He jumped, but managed to keep from lashing out just barely, and he promptly recognized who it must be and reasoned that the enemy Spy would’ve just stabbed him between the shoulder blades and wouldn’t be playing a dumb game like this. “Bad time, Scout,” was all he said, tone clipped.

“Nah,” Scout said, “match is almost over.” Then he promptly put his mouth on Sniper’s neck again, exactly the same way he had last time.

“Mate, besides the fact that I’m working, anyone could come up here and see this,” Sniper said, tone even more clipped.

“Nobody ever comes up here,” Scout scoffed, breath hot against his earlobe, which he promptly nipped at.

“Enemy Spook does,” Sniper said sharply, and a moment later he fired his gun, the kickback shifting Scout away from him for a second.

“And he’s pissed off at Engie today,” Scout replied, reaching up to tap at his own headset. “Nobody’s gonna come up here. Seriously.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Another fire. “You can sit yourself down again and have a wank, I don’t give a damn. But you already know that trick won’t work on me, and if you get caught with your cock out that’s nobody’s fault but your own.”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, much too smug. “I know all that.”

The sound of a zipper again. Sniper scowled. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe,” Scout shrugged, and moved around Sniper, and within a moment he was under the window Sniper was sat in front of, knelt down between Sniper’s legs. Sniper kept a warning on the tip of his tongue, waiting for Scout to try reaching for his zipper, but Scout didn’t, just worming his own pants and underwear down his legs. The sound of something clicking open, then something squirting lewdly, then further slick noises following just behind as Scout started jerking off.

“Tug off all you want, all you’re doing is giving the other team time to kick our arses,” Sniper drawled. “Won’t make much difference to me.”

“Yeah, clearly you don’t care if I jack off,” Scout said, voice only a touch breathier.

Sniper frowned at how oddly that was phrased, then his eyes widened as the sound of Scout jacking off slowed, a different slick noise starting up in its absence.

“Mmh,” Scout hummed, leaning his cheek on Sniper’s thigh, and Sniper only ever heard Scout make that exact noise in one situation, and he swallowed hard.

It had occurred to him previously that Scout rarely needed the amount of prep that he thought he would before getting absolutely railed. Only now did it occur to him why that might be.

Scout teased himself open with soft noises against Sniper’s inseam, jerking in steady motions to stay comfortable.

Scout had a really high sex drive, Sniper was aware. He probably got himself off practically on the daily.

Scout moaned, and it sounded an awful lot like his name, and Sniper had to swallow hard. He did so again a second later at Scout’s soft, barely-there pleading. “Fuck, harder, Snipes, _harder,_ ” he gasped, unsteady and desperate, and it made Sniper’s pulse stutter in sympathy.

How often did he finger himself open? How often did he do this, fucking himself and moaning Sniper’s name? Did he have toys, whole fantasies?

His hands shook enough that when he took a shot a moment later, it collided with the target’s neck, not the forehead. And from the spray it created it would make no difference, they’d die in a few seconds anyways, but it was sloppy. Very sloppy. The gunshot made Scout jump slightly, gasp into the fabric of his pants, leaving them warm and just slightly damp, but he didn’t slow his motions in the slightest.

Sniper was getting hard. Of course he was getting hard, how on earth wouldn’t he be getting hard? And any moment Scout would notice, and would taunt him, double down, start begging to be fucked, and that might very well be enough to snap Sniper’s self-control.

He put the rifle down.

Scout looked up at him through his eyelashes, flushed and with parted lips, and Sniper seized him by the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet.

Two damp hands at his wrist, Scout gasping as he was hauled across the small room to a few crates serving as a table and promptly shoved down onto them. Affirmations fell from his lips as Sniper leaned down to kiss and bite at his neck, hard, hard enough that it would certainly be leaving a mark, and only sped up when Sniper took his wrists and pinned them up above his head on the table, blindly scrabbling for the rope he had left there.

Within a few moments he had a Scout tied there, grinning and panting and hard and with rumpled, mostly-open clothing, staring up at him triumphantly. “Gonna fuck me, Snipes?” he asked, very taunting, very proud of himself.

Sniper grabbed him by the chin, tilting his head to one side so he could press a kiss to his cheek, nip his earlobe, and speak into his ear. “No, I’m not,” he replied simply, and straightened his hat, and walked back to his window to sit right back down and pick up his rifle.

Scout yelled at him for about five minutes. Sassed him for about three more. Sulked for two, started asking nicely to be untied, and begged with increasing desperation for about twenty minutes after that before he apparently realized that Sniper wasn’t going to let him out any time soon.

He asked, very quietly and sheepishly after a few minutes of silence, if Sniper could at least hide him better. Sniper picked up the blanket he’d been sitting on for comfort and tossed it over Scout. That got him yelled at for about two minutes before Scout went quiet again when Sniper pointed out that the blanket wasn’t as good at hiding him if he was making noise.

The match ended an hour and a half later, and they won, albeit barely, largely carried by Heavy and Medic’s extraordinary teamwork and good build placements by the Engineer. Sniper packed up everything he had, emptying jars and his long-cold cup of coffee out the window when he was sure his teammates weren’t beneath it. He then sat and waited a few minutes for the hooting and hollering to fade before he walked over and tugged the blanket off of Scout’s face.

Scout was pouting at him. “Can you please untie me now?” he asked, voice quiet and a little pitiful. Sniper almost felt bad. Almost.

“That depends. Everyone on the team gone off the field?” he asked, tapping at Scout’s headset.

“Yeah. They started askin’ where I was. They think it’s another situation like that time Spy’s head got chopped off and the other Medic kept him for a week or two,” he replied, thoroughly subdued.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” Sniper asked, tone joking, pinching his cheek.

“You fuckin’ tied me up and left me here under a blanket for like two hours,” Scout replied, tone containing a very minimal amount of sharpness.

“Would’ve let you up if you said the safeword,” Sniper replied, eyebrow ticking up.

Scout looked away from him. “Wasn’t sure that you would,” he said quietly. “And it would’ve freaked me out even more if I did and you wouldn’t.”

Sniper’s expression fell in an instant. “Scout, of course I would’ve. Why do you think that I wouldn’t?” he asked, very serious.

“Because…” Scout trailed, stopped for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter. “Because you keep ignoring me. Don’t you want me?”

Sniper was incredulous. “Mate, of bloody course I want you. You wouldn’t believe how hot and bothered I’ve been. But I _need_ to put my job first, and so do you. If it’s that big a deal, we can try and meet up more off the clock. I can try and make more time. But I’m not going to stop doing my job just to get off, awright?”

Scout nodded, apparently slightly pacified.

“What do you want now?” Sniper asked.

“I want you to fuck me, I think I made that pretty fuckin’ clear,” Scout snapped. “And my shoulders are startin’ to hurt. Could you—?”

Sniper was already up untying him before he could even finish asking. He moved Scout’s arms down to his sides, kneading at his shoulders in strong hands. “That feel better?” he asked gently.

“Yeah.” Scout got up, shifted uncomfortably for a few seconds, fixed his clothes, wincing. “Jesus.”

“Sorry, mate,” Sniper said, the guilt starting to set in.

“Whatever, man,” Scout said. Once he was all situated, he looked up at Sniper, eyes narrowed. “So you… do still want me?” he asked, a little hesitant.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed.

“You free?” was his next question, hopeful.

“I’ve got chores that need doing, but they can wait,” Sniper replied easily.

“My place or yours?”

“Mine,” Sniper replied, tugging Scout the few steps in to close the distance between them. “Your walls are thin. And after two displays like that, you’re gonna let the whole base know who you belong to if we’re in your room.”

Scout shivered, melting against him. “Fuckin’ _please_ ,” he all but groaned.

Sniper nosed in at his neck, teeth dragging lightly across his skin in a way that made Scout gasp. He was clearly all keyed up, and Sniper grinned at it. “First, I might just sit you down and watch you for a while, though. See how you get yourself off. Didn’t exactly get a good look, and you sounded—“ A pause to nip at him, and Scout made another desperate little noise, hips jerking forward into his thigh. “—bloody _gorgeous_.”

“Anything,” Scout agreed too-fast, panting against him, starting to roll his hips forward.

Sniper grinned again, pulling back to look Scout in the eye, tilting his chin up with one hand. “Oh, darl, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that.”


	7. Sniper/Scout, Dirty Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for roughness)

They were out at a bar, most of the team present, the whole defense team plus Sniper, Soldier, and Scout turning up to go hang out and drink and probably cause a public disturbance. Sniper and Scout shared one half of the large booth with Heavy sitting at the end, the two of them the skinniest ones there and the only ones who could get away with the sharing. Sniper, apparently in a bit of a possessive mood from going on his rum and coke, his fourth drink in just under two hours, had an arm slung around Scout’s shoulder pulling him in close to keep him from needing to be squished in too close to Heavy. Heavy either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the short glare Sniper shot him as he did so. Probably the second one.

Across the table, Engie was on the tail end of some story about a job he’d taken in college, and Sniper was pulled out of his laugh by the feeling of Scout’s lips brushing against his jaw as he turned his head to speak quietly into his ear. “Hey, babe,” he said, quiet enough that nobody else would likely hear him. “Remember how you brought up how I should talk dirty more?”

Sniper raised an eyebrow and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Hell of a time to be bringing it up—unprompted and in public and all.

“Figured I might as well start getting some practice in, huh?” Scout asked next, grinning, and Sniper felt heat rising through him like a riptide as he caught on.

“Yeah?” Sniper asked, his own voice lowered, except apparently it didn’t sound so much like a question, because Scout promptly took that as his cue to start in, shifting slightly to get a bit more comfortable, keeping his expression and body language neutral. To an onlooker, it would seem that they were just having a conversation between the two of them, trying to better be heard over the noise and laughter and music of the crowded establishment. But Scout’s words were anything but casual.

“I’m just dyin’ for you to fuck me, babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost soothing except for the way it immediately riled a Sniper up. “When we get outta here, I dunno if I’m even gonna be able to wait until we get all the way back to base. Might just shove you in the back of my car and ride you right there parked in the parking lot.”

Down the table, Demo briefly looked over at the two of them, saw that they were apparently talking, and turned his attention right back to listening to Heavy as he started speaking, voice rising easily over the din of the room. None the wiser to the fact that Sniper’s heart was beating a mile a minute.

“But maybe I can keep it together until we get back at least. Or maybe I can hand you the keys and you can drive us back, and I can lean over the gearshift and blow you. See how long you can drive straight for. See how long it takes you to pull over and fuck me over the hood, make me cream all over that nice red paint job I just got done.”

Across from them, Soldier didn’t seem to be listening to anyone at all, too busy putting sugar packets into crisp, military-regulation rows.

“I don’t want you to do that too, though. I want you to fuck me, and I want you to fill me up. Bet I’d beg for it if you fucked me good enough. Bet I’d beg for you to cum in me. Hell, I’m practically ready to do it right now just thinkin’ about it. What do you think’a that?” Scout asked, leaning back exactly enough to flash Sniper a cocky grin.

Sniper looked at him. Glanced briefly at Demo as he started talking, all other eyes turning to him. He then reached up between the two of them with the hand not around Scout’s shoulders and tilted his chin forward, lips moving to the shell of his ear.

“I’m not doin’ any of that, sweet’eart,” he replied, voice scorched and rough and low in a way that already drew a shiver from Scout. “We’re gonna sit here for the rest of the night, then you’re gonna drive us back with our hands to ourselves, and I’m not touching you in the slightest until we get back into the camper for the night.”

A pause, Scout’s posture taut like a bowstring through it. Then Sniper continued.

“Because the second I lay hands on you, it’s going to be to make you scream,” he said, and Scout’s breath caught. “I’m gonna tie you down, love, bend you right over top of the hood of my camper, but you won’t get to finish any time soon. I wanna see how many times I can fuck you, how many times I can fill you up and leave you begging for more, how long it takes for you to break. For you to cry. For you to scream for me. I’m gonna spank that arse of yours red and fuck you all night if that’s what it takes. Then once I’ve got you nice and broken, I’m gonna clean you out with my mouth. Then, once I’m done, if you’re real good for me, beg just right? Then maybe you’ll get to come.” He pressed a chaste, scratchy kiss against Scout’s cheek. “Maybe.”

“Mundy, what’s all the PDA for?” Demo asked down the table jokingly.

“Can’t a bloke kiss his boyfriend’s cheek without being called an animal, Tavish?” Sniper joked right back, laughing a little. “Let me alone, mate.”

“Fine, fine,” Demo laughed, rolling his eye at the both of them and turning to look at Soldier as he started speaking.

Sniper heard Scout gulp audibly and released his chin, moving to take another drink from his glass. Only another hour or so and they would be leaving. He better pace himself. When he looked back down at Scout, he seemed thoroughly flustered, and moved to focus on his drink, not talking again for a good long while.

Saving his voice, maybe, although in Sniper’s opinion there wasn’t much of a point. He’d be losing it later anyways.

* * *

“What do you want?” Sniper asked quietly, tone a threat, voice a promise.

For a few seconds Scout just panted, unsteady, ragged, clearly not sure if he was actually allowed to talk yet. He decided after a few moments that he was. “Please,” he managed, voice rough and weak from yelling. “Fuck, please.”

“Please what?” he asked, reaching down to cup at Scout’s ass, very much enjoying the jolt he got in response, Scout startled by the rough hand against his spank-reddened skin.

“I dunno, I, I dunno, anything—“ Scout managed, not even the strength to lift his head, voice weak and desperate, starting to tug at his wrists.

Sniper hushed him quietly, rubbing hands up over Scout’s shoulders to soothe and gentle him until he was still and relaxed again, malleable and quiet. “You wanna come, sweet’eart?” he asked, voice soft and sympathetic.

“Please,” Scout managed through what was almost certainly a burning throat.

Sniper reached down, stroked a circle with one finger around the base of the plug he’d stuffed Scout full of. The battery in it had apparently died at some point, because now it was still and silent. He’d left Scout stuffed full of it earlier at a lower setting, letting it vibrate away, enjoying the way Scout’s hips rolled and jerked, trying to get more and in just the right place, futile as it was. Only once or twice had Scout ever gotten wound up enough to get off exclusively from being fucked, and he doubted that he could manage it stretched out over the hood of a camper from some simple plug. When he moved to gently pull it out, Scout made a considerable groan, muscles going taut, thighs shaking. It popped free, and cum oozed down his inner thighs, made bright against where his skin was darkened and flushed. Most of it from the first two rounds; after that, Sniper had dropped off a little bit. Scout released a quiet sob, forehead thunking against the hood as his head dropped, fully limp in his bonds again.

After as many rounds as Sniper had put him through over the course of a couple of hours, leaving him there stuffed full of a plug in-between to keep him desperate, spanking him when he got too snappish with his begging, he wasn’t entirely sure he had it in him to fuck Scout again. He could try and force himself, but mostly it would just be uncomfortable. And he had a feeling Scout would finish way before him regardless. Instead he leaned forward to kiss at his back.

“Want me to do what I said earlier at the bar? Clean you out with my mouth?” Sniper suggested.

He was only a little surprised when Scout shook his head. “Just… please,” he whispered, voice too far gone to speak much louder. Sniper nodded, kissed at his spine, and reached around to take gentle hold of Scout’s dick. Scout hissed at the sensation, going tense again.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” Sniper said, and reached down with his other hand to push two fingers into Scout. He found his prostate within only a moment or two, and Scout wheezed out a breath, completely surrendering himself over to Sniper, not even rocking along when Sniper started jerking him off in quick motions and setting punishing presses against him in a steady rhythm. All he could do was moan wordlessly, mindlessly, driven to simple animal need.

It took maybe two minutes for Scout to finish, and when he did, it was so intense that he barely made any noise, so intense that it escaped him in a dribble rather than a spurt. His cock jerked over and over in Sniper’s hand, he clenched down hard, his fists went white where they were tied up above his head. Sniper gentled him as best he could, giving Scout gentle reminders to breathe between gentle mouthing along his shoulderblades.

Scout was borderline catatonic when he finally finished, and Sniper was a little amazed at the amount of cum he’d left to puddle on the ground. Sniper untied him as gingerly as he could, clicking his tongue in sympathy when he saw the dark ring of bruising around Scout’s wrists. He hefted Scout and picked him up bridal-style, carrying him into the camper to lie down. He was shivering quite a bit, and his skin was largely clammy, which had Sniper worried.

“You alright then, love?” Sniper asked, gently nudging the bangs out of Scout’s face to get a better look at him.

Scout looked up at him with a dreamy expression. “So fuckin’ good,” he replied, voice hardly above a breath, voice as far gone as it could get without disappearing completely. “It’s kinda one of those things you jack off about, y’know? Getting all filled up like that like some kinda… I dunno what. Fuck.”

Sniper smiled, moving to go get his canteen and bring it back. “Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he warned when he came back and saw Scout’s eyes drooping.

Scout didn’t reply, taking a drink from the canteen, wincing at the feeling on his raw throat. Even then, his eyes were dropping further.

“Tired?” Sniper asked.

“Exhausted,” Scout replied.

“Stay awake just a minute, then,” Sniper said, standing. “We can clean up properly in the morning, but I’m putting a towel down. Maybe the sheets will be salvageable.”

Scout nodded, head dropping against the pillow, eyes opening just a little bit as he stared off into space. He had the strength to lift his hips up when Sniper came back, letting Sniper lay it out and getting comfortable when he squeezed in, similarly stripped down naked, and pulled a big, heavy blanket over the both of them.

“I love you, Snipes,” Scout mumbled, already half asleep.

“Love you too,” Sniper replied, kissing him right on the top of his head, and by the time he pulled back to look down at him again, he was already out like a light. Sniper kissed his head again anyways, following right behind.


	8. Demo/Sniper/Scout, Brat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for very consensual roughness)

“Tavish, your boyfriend is being a bloody menace again,” Sniper started in, dragging Scout by the scruff of his neck into Demo’s little workshop.

“Why’s it that he’s only _my_ boyfriend when he’s acting out, and _your_ boyfriend when he’s being sweet?” Demo asked, not looking up from the bundle of wires and switches that he was working on, canisters lined up neatly in front of him.

“Because he only ever works this hard to piss _me_ off,” Sniper replied.

“And why do you think that is, Mundy?” Demo asked, a little bit sarcastically.

“Because it’s way funnier,” Scout cut in, and shut right back up again when Sniper shook him once, hard.

“The temper on you, love,” Demo tsk’d, working his hands free and standing up from his workbench, moving forward to look Scout up and down. “Careful with him. The munchkinlander bruises easy, y’ken.”

Scout glared at that, and Demo raised an eyebrow at him briefly before turning his attention back to Sniper.

“Look, you know why he keeps doing this, aye?” Demo asked, amusement in his tone.

“Because we can’t leave him alone for ten bloody minutes before he gets bored and wants attention, and then he has a bloody temper tantrum over it when we don’t give it to him,” Sniper said, tone biting. He seemed legitimately pissed off. Demo was curious as to what Scout had actually done this time.

“And?” Demo led, and continued when Sniper just frowned, not understanding. “Lad, you keep using negative reinforcement is the thing. Stubborn little bastards like this,” he said, taking Scout’s chin in one hand and tilting his head up to face Demo head on, “just dig their heels in with that. Love getting a reaction.”

“So what else am I meant to do?” Sniper asked, confused.

“Watch and learn,” Demo said, and leaned to grab a length of rope from where it was hanging on the wall.

He had a setup for making his much larger explosives, which included a big bracing apparatus—currently folded and stowed away—and a large hook on the ceiling. Demo, in clean, efficient movements, first tied Scout’s wrists together, then he looped the rope up over the hook, pulling hard, and Scout was yanked so he stood flat on his feet with his arms well up above his head, only enough slack to stand comfortably.

Scout looked surprised. He clearly hadn’t really seen this coming. Demo barely spared him a look though, busy tying off the rope.

“Care to pass the box cutter, Mundy?” Demo asked idly, and he saw Scout go tense in his periphery.

Sniper did so, and Demo flicked it open, moving forward. Scout had a slight edge of fear in his expression, and Demo flicked the thing back closed, moving a hand to press soothingly into Scout’s side.

“Not gonna hurt you with this, darl,” he said, stilling the mile-a-minute train of thought that was probably going through Scout’s head just then. Scout relaxed only a little bit.

To be fair, it wasn’t often that he and Demo played this way. That was more Sniper’s rodeo, with Demo occasionally asked to help with more complicated ones. And when Demo did play he usually did so with Sniper, and they didn’t exactly have a set dynamic, switching between who was in charge and who was tying up who depending on the mood. Mostly Scout got his fill of that particular kind of attention with Sniper and then he and Demo messed around in a more vanilla way, Scout getting pampered just a bit in the wake of getting tied up and used. That was more Demo’s dynamic.

That said, he did have some ideas.

“Hold this,” Demo directed, taking the dog tag lying against Scout’s shirt and lifting it up towards his face. Scout carefully took it between his teeth, clearly hesitant, not sure that’s what Demo wanted from him. Demo nodded approvingly. He then opened the box cutter again and sliced Scout’s shirt clean off of him in three cuts, two from the edge of the sleeve to the collar of the shirt and once right down the center, baring him to the world. He tugged lightly on the chain of the tags and Scout released it again, letting it drop back into place, face flushing.

He was aware of Sniper moving to lock the door somewhere in his periphery, even if he didn’t turn to look. Scout glancing to watch him did that work for him.

“So what’d you do?” Demo finally asked, tone bright.

Scout set his jaw, looking off to one side.

“The little menace just—“ Sniper started, but Demo shot him a glance.

“No,” he said, looking back at Scout. “He’s gonna be the one to say it.”

“Or else what?” Scout challenged, no small amount of fight there behind his eyes.

“Or else you get to stand there. But if you _do_ tell me,” Demo led, reaching forward to close the distance for a moment, thumbs moving to Scout’s nipples and kneading and rolling them in smooth motions that had him writhing, gasping in need within only a few moments. Then he pulled back with a parting pinch, and Scout went still again, breath coming a bit heavier, pants tighter. “Well, I think you’ll like what happens.”

Scout was quiet for another few seconds, glancing between Sniper and Demo a few times.

“Care for a drink, Mundy?” Demo asked, attention shifting to Sniper.

“Could go for one,” Sniper shrugged, catching on in an instant. “What do you have?”

“Got plenty of options—“ Demo started, taking only a step away from Scout before he started stammering.

“I, alright, so, it was really an accident this time I swear—“ Scout said, speaking quickly.

“Right?” Demo said, returning to stand in front of him again.

“I…” Scout was flushing further. “I went over to the camper to see if Snipes was busy, because you told me you were workin’ on somethin’ today, and he was just taking his stupid gun apart and putting it back together again—“

“I’ve told you a million times that my rifle needs _actual maintenance_ or else I’ll need to replace it within the year, it’s not my fault you don’t take care of your bloody things and I do—“ Sniper started to snap, and quieted again when Demo glanced at him.

“So what’d you do?” Demo prompted, raising an eyebrow at Scout again.

Scout ducked his head. “So I… sassed him for a while,” he trailed, speaking carefully. “And he told me to go away, and… that he wasn’t good to play today. That he was busy.”

Demo nodded, waiting, aware that that wasn’t enough to piss Sniper off so badly.

“…And then on my way out I slammed to door,” Scout admitted, “and it shook the camper and knocked over a bunch of shit.”

Demo hummed, stepping a bit closer, running hands down Scout’s sides, making him shiver as he traced over the sensitive parts of his ribcage, gentle even with calloused fingers. “What’d you knock over?”

“A few glasses, a jar—it was empty,” he hurried to say, seeing Demo’s eyebrows rise. “But glass got everywhere. And a box of bullets slid off the table and scattered. And… and a picture fell off the wall. It was an accident, really, but then Snipes freaked out on me and yelled at me and dragged me over here.”

Demo hummed, hands rising to toy with his chest some more, and within moments Scout was leaned forward what amount the ropes would allow, reduced to gasping again. “Good,” Demo praised, and Scout shivered.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Sniper asked from near Demo’s shoulder, incredulous.

“Positive reinforcement, Mickey m’boy,” Demo said, a little smug. “Now, Scout.”

“Mmmwhat?” Scout asked, eyes blinking open, hazy.

“Now you’re going to apologize,” Demo said.

Scout tensed up a bit, eyebrows furrowing. “Aw, go to hell,” he said, even as his voice wavered. Demo stopped playing with him. “I didn’t even do it on purpose, it’s not my fault he’s a dumbass and left his goddamn dishes stacked up like that and doesn’t know how to hang up a poster—“

Demo removed his hands entirely, and Scout stopped talking, looking down and watching them retreat, returning to Demo’s side, one to his hip. “I don’t care if you did it on purpose, lad. You’ve made a mess and now you’re going to apologize for it,” he said firmly.

There was that gleam again. “Or else what, Cyclops? You gonna make me?” he asked, taking some of the slack in hand and leaning hard on the ropes.

“Nope,” Demo replied, reaching up to cup Scout’s jaw in hand, angling him just so. “You’re just gonna stay there tied up until you do. And you won’t get a single lick of attention until then. All you have to do is apologize, lad, that’s all. Just a little one.”

Scout huffed, sinking, glaring at Demo when he gave Scout a parting pat on the cheek before stepping away, gesturing for Sniper to follow.

“Mate, he doesn’t listen to that,” Sniper said quietly, too quiet for Scout to hear as they went to the cabinet on the other side of the little workshop. “He’s stubborn as hell. Buttering him up doesn’t get him anywhere but pleased with himself.”

“Mundy, every time he acts out you rough him up. But that’s what he _wants_ you do to,” Demo replied just as quietly, pulling out two glasses and two bottles, setting to mixing some drinks on the countertop nearby. “You’re giving him what he wants. If you want him to do what you say willingly, you’ve got to promise something that he’ll like just as much as whatever punishment you’re threatening him with. Either punish him hard—which might well just get him to safeword before he’s done what you’ve asked, the little bastard’s a slut for pain and doesn’t know when to quit—or offer him something he wants more than his pride.”

Sniper took the drink that was offered to him, clinking their glasses before downing a gulp. He considered for a moment. “Think that’ll work?”

“Depends. You can rile him up real desperate-like then get him to do what you say, but only if you can make it that long without losing your own self-control. Or, you can offer something he wants desperately already.”

Sniper paused. “Oh. Well, mate, then I might just have an idea.”

-

Scout was sulking. There he was, shirtless and tied up, and Demo and Sniper weren’t even _looking_ at him. Assholes. Couldn’t they see how hot he was? What a chance they had right then? He was just there, good-looking and helpless. Seriously.

He perked up when Demo started walking towards him, only to slump again when he moved right past him. Then he felt a pair of strong hands at his hips and he was pulled back against Demo’s body, and his breath hitched.

“So me and Mundy have been talking,” he hummed, quiet into Scout’s ear. “We think we know what your reward is gonna be for when you tell him you’re sorry.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, tilting his head closer, trying to look at Demo.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, and Scout looked forward again, and his breath caught when Sniper stepped forward close enough to press their fronts together, leaving him sandwiched and immobilized between the two larger men. “Remember that time we all got together?”

“When me and Mundy both had a lend of you? At the same time?”

“You put that sweet little outfit on to beg us for it, to try and get us to give it to you, remember? The black one?” Sniper prompted, nibbling a line down Scout’s neck between phrases.

Scout remembered exactly what Sniper was talking about and his pulse hammered. Demo pressed a kiss to his pulse point as it apparently showed, and he swallowed hard, breath hitching as Sniper caught the motion of his adam’s apple under his teeth. “Yeah,” he said weakly.

“I knew how much you liked that, and god knows me and the lanky bastard both liked it too. If you apologize, we can do that again, right here,” Demo coaxed, hands falling from his hips to instead run along the inside of Scout’s thighs.

The idea ran loose in Scout’s mind for a few moments. Himself, tied up and helpless, getting absolutely railed into by the two very hot guys he was dating.

He flushed clear down to his chest, heart hammering.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice breaking a little. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Snipes. I—I promise I won’t do it again, I’m real sorry.”

“You gonna help him clean up later, lad?” Demo asked, hummed into the back of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah I will, promise. I promise,” he agreed, nodding feverishly.

“Gonna whinge about it, or will you be a good boy and help nice and quiet?” Sniper asked.

“No, I’ll be good. I can be good,” Scout said quickly.

Quiet for a few moments. Scout rolled his hips forward at the sound of Sniper and Demo sharing a kiss over his shoulder. “Bloody genius, Tavish,” Sniper praised lowly, and Demo chuckled, and then they were starting to get undressed.

Scout moved along to make it easier when his pants were undone and pushed down, trying to kick off his shoes as best he could. Sniper got them open, and then Demo pulled them down and off, guiding them off Scout’s legs one leg at a time. When Demo returned to pressing up behind him, his chest was bare, and Scout groaned at it.

“Lube, Mickey?” Demo prompted, and the bottle was passed over. “Thanks, love. Right, up you get lad.”

Scout felt hands pulling at the back of his thighs, and he took the prompt, shifting on his feet for a second before taking hold of the slack in the rope again and lifting his legs up into the air, wrapping them around Sniper’s middle. Sniper grabbed hold of him to help him keep his balance, hands on his ass, both keeping him supported and spreading him enough that Demo could start in.

Scout moaned and babbled pleads into Sniper’s shoulder and neck as Demo worked him open quickly and efficiently, knowing his body and his tells pretty damn well by then and knowing that Scout could take the discomfort involved in moving fast. Loved to, even. Loved the slight burn, the knowledge that he’d be just a little sore the next day and that he’d know exactly who was responsible for it.

But Demo worked him up well into three fingers, his hands bigger than Sniper’s, spreading him more than was usually needed. Scout was asked to hop down for a second to let Sniper get undressed, which he did with efficiency, before he was being held again, Demo helping support his weight while Sniper slicked up and found the right angle and—and—and—

His brain always whited out for a second at that first push, and it was a good thing he managed to keep his legs in place and had Demo holding him up, that he clenched his fists, because he might’ve outright fallen over otherwise. Sniper filled him in three easy pushes, and Scout tried to say something like “it’s fine, I’m not in any pain, we can go ahead”, but mostly it just came out in a moan.

Sniper got a pretty good read on the situation, though. “He’s awright, Tavish. Go on,” he prompted. Another kiss shared over his shoulder, then Demo shifted, Sniper taking the weight back to free up Demo’s hands.

Sniper started rolling up into him in slow, steady motions, and Scout heard the sound of more lube before on the next roll, one of Demo’s fingers followed alongside Sniper’s cock and Scout couldn’t help but release a sharp gasp of pleasure, hips jerking. Demo shushed him with a kiss at the apex of his spine, starting up a gentle motion alongside Sniper’s. One finger became two—another hard gasp from Scout, they were talking to each other quietly but he couldn’t seem to make himself focus on what they were saying—and then finally three. All of a sudden, Scout felt a bolt of _something_ , and he whispered a frantic word into Sniper’s shoulder.

Sniper’s motions stopped in an instant. “He asked for yellow, Tavish,” he relayed, and Demo stopped as well.

“Need me out, lad?” he asked sympathetically, free hand kneading at Scout’s thigh to soothe him.

“No,” he managed, voice weak, and with everything stopped for a moment he could process suddenly that there were tears leaking out of his eyes. “Just-just gimme a second. I can do this. I know I can do this. Just need a second.”

Demo nodded, kissing Scout a few more times, beard a comforting, familiar rasp against his skin. Sniper did the same on the opposite side of his neck, a tremble to his hands where they supported Scout’s weight.

Finally Scout felt like things had reached a manageable level, and he exhaled, relaxing just a little bit, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I think I’m good now,” he said, tilting his head to make it clear he was addressing Demo.

Demo ignored that for a little bit, continuing to stretch him and coax him open for a few more moments before he even pulled his fingers out and his pants off. Scout squeezed his eyes shut and took a few more deep breaths, listening idly to the sound of slicking up further, hands being wiped off.

Then Demo had a hand on his thigh, pulling, working Sniper out until just the head was left. And Scout heard Sniper’s breath catching, and then his own followed as he felt Demo line up.

“Ready, lad?” Demo asked, and Scout nodded half-frantically, and he started lowering Scout to allow them both to push in.

Whiteout, world blurring at the edges. He was aware, distantly, of Demo murmuring for him to relax, of Sniper telling him good, he was doing such a good job, what a good boy. His own dick was absolutely throbbing, trapped between him and Sniper, teased by the hair on Sniper’s stomach and desperate for contact, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t touch himself, couldn’t do anything but let himself be used, and oh, oh fuck—

Breathing picked up, Sniper and Demo thrusting in what rhythm they could find, both of them using their upper body strength to lift and manipulate Scout as they pleased, bouncing him on them with only some small amount of effort, seeming to get a real kick out of all the noise he was making. Demo reached around and took hold of Scout’s dog tags, pressing them to his mouth, and Scout took them between his teeth like he had earlier without even really thinking about it.

Hands were everywhere. Supporting his weight, groping up and down his thighs, dragging nails over his back, and—that was Demo’s, he was pretty sure—teasing at his nipples and making him whine and jerk.

“Want me to bite you?” Sniper asked, liquid gravel into his ear, and he nodded desperately, and writhed when he started in.

“Gorgeous, love,” Demo praised, low into his shoulder blade, licking and sucking at the freckles there that he could find, and all Scout could do was moan.

“Such a good boy,” Sniper praised, voice hard and rough, marking up his shoulders and neck with abandon between panting, and all Scout could do was moan.

“Gonna come, are you? Gonna come for us? Go on, give us a show,” Demo teased, nose buried in his hair, hands pinching his nipples _hard_ , and all Scout could do was moan.

He wasn’t sure who came first, sensation and pleasure blurring together, feeling only his own sounds transform into begging, then praise, then no words at all, just moaning and keening, a rough voice following with him, someone else humming satisfaction into his shoulder.

When he came back down to earth, shivering, shaking, out of sorts in his own skin, like he’d touched a live wire, like he was fresh off the high of winning a fight, he could confirm pretty easily that yes, both Sniper and Demo had come. And Demo had pulled out, gingerly, gently, and pulled away from Scout’s back, leaving him cold. Scout felt an involuntary roll of embarrassment hit him at the feeling of dripping that followed the exit. Sniper hefted him carefully, slipping out, and a moment later Scout’s arms were suddenly released and dropped down around Sniper’s shoulders.

Sniper looked at him. He looked at Sniper.

“Made a bloody mess of you,” Demo observed, returning, helping guide Scout‘s feet to the floor and stroking over one of the bite marks Sniper had left, other arm wrapped around his waist to help keep him upright. “That’s gonna leave a mark, Mundy. What’d I tell you about bruising?”

“Sorry,” Sniper said, a little sheepishly.

“You right, Scooter?” Demo asked, hand smoothing down his flank, one of Sniper’s moving up to mop his face dry. Scout nodded, not quite ready for words again yet.

“I’m…” Sniper started to say, hesitated. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that, love. It was an accident that you made such a mess. An accident because you’re a careless little bugger, but still an accident. And I, er, appreciate your apology.”

Scout couldn’t help but smile, and buried his face in Sniper’s shoulder to hide it. Took a deep breath or two. “You can make it up to me by helpin’ clean me up. I can barely fuckin’ walk right now,” he murmured weakly.

“Sure,” Sniper agreed.

“We all sorted out then? Anyone still pissy? Is the domestic over?” Demo teased, moving to the side of them to look them both in the face. He got some sheepish nodding. “Good. Gimme your hands, lad, you’re not getting out of those cuffs yourself.”

“Thanks, Demo,” Scout said, more earnest than he generally allowed himself. Sniper echoed the sentiment.

“Don’t you even mention it,” Demo said, kissing both of them square on the cheek, first Scout, then Sniper, then Scout again. “Love you both, happy to sort it out that I get to _keep_ loving you both instead watching of you throttle each other.”

“What if that’s hot, though? What if we get a safeword first?” Scout joked, grinning at Demo even as he offered his hands to be untied.

“Och, then I’ll watch you throttle each other seven days a week, darl,” Demo teased, pinching his cheek, and Scout laughed, and Sniper laughed, and all was well.

Until next time Scout decided he wasn’t getting enough attention, at least. But Demo was looking forward to it.


	9. Sniper/Scout, Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

The idea had been that they were both an absolute mess and desperately needed a shower after a nice, relaxing post-battle tumble together. So they’d crowded themselves into the tiny shower in the camper, and somewhere before Sniper could figure out how to get his hands to where he could turn the shower on, he was made aware of Scout looking up at him with those big blue eye of his.

And a hardness against his thigh.

“Already?” Sniper couldn’t help but tease, reaching down to get a grip on him, and Scout gasped, rolling his hips forward.

“I can’t help it that you’re so hot,” he protested, hands trailing over Sniper’s chest, eyeing him up like a piece of meat. “And that you fuck me so good.”

“Must be nice being young,” Sniper huffed, free hand wrapping around to grope at his ass, spreading him. Scout gasped, eyelids fluttering, rolling his hips again.

“H-hey, you’re not that much older than me,” he defended, reaching down to get a feel of Sniper and finding him also half-hard.

“You’ve got me there,” he admitted, breath hitching.

He let Scout fondle him for a few moments before he tugged, shifted, pulled Scout’s leg up over his hip, one hand moving to grope his ass and keep him spread and the other moving to push two fingers into him, the way already made slick by their previous round and its results.

Scout caught on quickly, one hand wrapping up around Sniper’s shoulders to support himself and the other moving to hold their dicks together, starting to jerk them off in slick, steady motions, already gaspy and weak and flushed red from the remainder of the afterglow.

God, Sniper fucking loved round two.

He rolled his hips into Scout’s hand, breathless himself at the feeling of how easy the slide of flesh against flesh was, momentarily confused and too rattled to piece it together. Scout pulled himself up closer, murmuring damply against the shell of his ear, completing the puzzle in his mind and making his libido skyrocket. “Fuck, Snipes, you’re so slick still,” he said, tone sultry and entirely shameless in a way that Sniper always adored in his lovers, with a shivery undertone as Sniper unraveled him with skilled, experienced fingers. “Feels so… God, you’re all… all slick with cum, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

Sniper moaned, both disgusted and intensely aroused as suddenly he became aware of noises their bodies were making against each other. It was lewd, it made him shiver the sound he made when he rutted against Scout, made him flush clear down to his chest when he heard the sound it made when he delved his fingers in deep and wrenched a whimper from Scout. He looked down between them, watched their dicks disappearing and reappearing in Scout’s hand, the way Scout’s hand was smearing the cum further across his stomach with each pass.

It was filthy. They were both filthy. In so many senses of the word.

He fucked Scout on his fingers hard and fast, capturing his mouth in a kiss, and fuck, even that was slick and noisesome, lips shiny with spit, Scout’s mouth falling open around a hard moan when Sniper bit down, muffled as he drew back in to suck on his tongue. A strand of saliva hung between them when they parted, broken when Scout sucked his now-swollen lip into his mouth absently, hazy. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes damp. Sniper was starting to have a hard time keeping a good grip on Scout’s thigh they were both so sweaty. He dug his nails in, and Scout moaned again, head falling back, and Sniper took the chance to start licking at Scout‘s collarbone and up the prominent vein of his neck, a kiss to his chin and right back down the other one.

Fuck. Fuck, he was gorgeous like this. Filthy, an absolute mess, hair stuck up on one side and drooling a little bit when Sniper added a third finger and hazy and covered in cum and lube and sweat and he was still somehow gorgeous.

Sniper managed to hold off on his orgasm until Scout came, and then they were shooting up between themselves, making a mess of their stomachs and chests, made worse as Scout leaned forward and pulled them closer together, stomachs and chests rubbing against each other for full-body contact.

They were left panting, clinging. Sniper’s chest hair was matted down. Scout wiped off his mouth on his own upper arm.

“Shower?” Sniper suggested, and Scout laughed and said nodded.

He managed to arrange them to the point that he could turn the knob to get the water flowing, only to immediately twist it back again when there was a harsh thunking somewhere below them as the water heater and tank protested. Only the barest dribble of water came through from the shower head before it petered out again.

“What’s that mean?” Scout asked, frowning.

Sniper swallowed hard, a pit dropping into his stomach. “Camper’s out of water,” he replied, throat dry, the state of mess seeming all the more severe all of a sudden now that he’d finished.

Scout swore.


	10. Heavy/Medic, Toying (Fem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

It brought Heavy an awful lot of joy, seeing Medic like this. The usually crisp and professional doctor, there in her pressed coat and clean glasses, not a single hair in her bun out of place, reduced—elevated—to such a complete mess.

Her face flushed, and her eyes foggy, and her mouth open and gasping.

There was the misconception that Heavy’s size somehow related to her ability to do finnicky, precise work. That was not the case. She spent much of her time fine-tuning massive weapons, where even the smallest misalignment could send bullets careening wide or barrels spinning out of place and breaking the entire gun. She knew very well how to be careful, how to be precise. And she used that skill to its fullest on her Doktor, the love of her life.

One massive thumb circling her clit in gentle motions, two fingers buried deep and moving in slow rolls and curls that made Medic keen, worked up and oversensitive and somewhere treading that fine line between desperate for more and desperate to be free of sensation. Heavy’s other hand mostly moved to soothe her, rubbing circles against her stomach, up her arms, occasionally cupping her breast when she started to drift to draw her attention back to the moment.

“One more,” Heavy said softly, leaning in to kiss at Medic’s thigh a few times. “Doktor has one more.”

“I can’t,” she gasped in return, even as her hips bucked, her knees shook and trembled. “Heavy, Gott, I can’t—!”

“You will,” Heavy replied firmly, curling hard, squeezing one breast at just the right pressure to make Medic arch, her lips parted in a lovely “o” shape. “Just let go, Doktor.”

She sped her movements as Medic started rolling joltingly against her fingers, paying better attention to her clit as she drew closer, and it wasn’t too much longer before Medic came one more time with a soft, halting gasp.

Maybe one day Heavy would get her to let go fully, to vocalize and moan to her heart’s content, unashamed. Already she was making progress—it wasn’t often that Medic would let Heavy lay her down and pamper her like this. Usually she was the one taking control, leading the scene, hooking Heavy up to all sorts of different things and watching her with no small amount of delight. Heavy loved it, obviously, she loved every second, but it was refreshing to have a change of pace.

When Medic was done, Heavy gently drew her hand away, wiping it off on the towel she’d placed nearby. Her fingers had gone a bit pruny, but that was to be expected. She spent a few moments giving Medic a cursory wipe-down, making mental note to do a more thorough job later.

Medic murmured something in German, still dazed. A few seconds later she repeated it in unsteady English. “That was incredible, Heavy, thank you,” she managed, breathless. A pause. “Would you like me to…?”

Heavy shrugged. “Is not big difference,” she said. “Is about Doktor tonight.”

Medic sat up with great effort, and it became that much more obvious how much disarray her hair had fallen into, hanging around her face, sweaty and messy and, in Heavy’s opinion, beautiful. The mascara had smudged at the corner of one of her eyes, and it made Heavy smile. “I make you feel good because I like to, meine Bärin,” she said, still a bit short of breath but recovering by the moment. “I enjoy it.”

Heavy smiled. “Then enjoy yourself,” she invited, spreading her arms.

Medic leaned forward, drawing Heavy in further with heels at her hips. She pushed her shirt up and off, gently holding onto Heavy and starting to kiss across her skin, getting a feel for what Heavy wanted just then.

“And I’ll admit,” Medic hummed, gentle into her sternum, “I _have_ been dying to try out a new project I‘ve been working on. Off record.”

Heavy had learned to be excited whenever Medic brought up a project she’d been working on off record. So she moved to help Medic to her feet, and Medic took a moment to steady and reorient herself before moving over to her sets of various boxes and cabinets, rummaging through one for a few seconds before producing something and walking back over.

“If you would strip and get on the table, please?” Medic asked, sounding a little smug. Heavy did so without question, spreading her legs to allow Medic between them and leaning back to get comfortable as Medic turned to one side and briefly wiped the thing down with some sort of cleaning thing she had on the tray with other medical implements. “Would you mind if I restrain your legs, meine Schatz?” she asked.

Heavy gestured for her to go ahead, albeit frowning with mild confusion. “Why is this?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Well, I tested this on myself, of course, and the reaction I had was, er…” She searched for the right word. “…Significant.”

Finally Medic had her restrained, ankles secured to the corners of the table. She then promptly glanced over the little thing in her hand for a few moments then moved to position it over Heavy’s clit. For a moment she paused, glancing around for some kind of lube, before just shrugging and dragging two fingers up through where the majority of Heavy’s slickness was settled, making her hum happily. Once Medic seemed to be satisfied, she worked with eager yet clinical hands to position everything just so.

“Ready?” Medic asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Of course,” Heavy said.

Medic turned the thing on, and Heavy’s world went white.

It took maybe ten seconds for Heavy to come, every muscle going taut, rocking in desperate motions against the powerful, delicious suction that seemed to be trying to pull her soul out of her body. Medic pushed her over the edge all the faster as she slid two fingers in and crooked them just right, and Heavy, for a moment, was worried that she’d blacked out. When the stars stopped dancing in front of her eyes, she was left shivering, panting, ankles aching, and fading back into view was the grinning face of Medic. Belatedly, playing over the previous minute or so in her mind, she realized her aching ankles were a result of her legs jerking hard, hard enough that she was sure she would’ve kicked Medic if she hadn’t been careful. It was no longer on her, and she stared at Medic with wide eyes.

“What is that?” Heavy panted, first in Russian before correcting to English, torn between extremely aroused and a bit terrified.

“I’ve yet to decide on a name,” Medic said, tone breezy and casual. “But I think it’s safe to declare this test a success.”

Heavy nodded absently, shaken to her very core.

“You got me off, what, four times?” Medic asked idly, tracing a shape against Heavy’s inner thigh with slick fingertips. “I think I’ll get you to a nice, round six, hmm?”

Heavy just nodded again mindlessly, lying back, the conflicting mess of emotions settling into simple yet powerful arousal as Medic went to set the toy up again, grinning like a manic.

Her hair was still a mess, and it made Heavy smile for the moment before her world became nothing but sensation and breath.


	11. Sniper/Scout, Crossfacton Nervous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Anyone see you?” Sniper asked quietly, taking Scout’s jacket and hanging it up by the door.

“Don’t think so,” Scout replied quietly, kicking his shoes off and starting to wrestle his way out of his t-shirt.

It was late, stupid late, but the lateness was necessary. Nobody else was awake and about, most likely, and if they were, they would be too tired to go investigate what someone was doing going into Sniper’s camper, and it was too dark out for them to be able to tell that the person was wearing blue, especially with the additional precaution of Scout wearing a black jacket over his regulation civvies. And absolute worst case scenario, if someone came by, it was possible they wouldn’t recognize the enemy Scout when he was out of uniform, and Sniper could say that he was… his friend from town, or his weed guy, or something like that.

Scout seemed a little off, hands shaking too bad to get his laces undone. Sniper was patient, moving to pour Scout a cup of coffee—decaf, but Scout always drank it with about four packets or two spoonfuls of sugar anyways, so it didn’t matter.

Scout took his usual seat, and his hands continued to shake as he took a drink from the mug Sniper slid across the table to him, staring at the blinds every few moments as if sure they were going to come alive and try to strangle him at any moment.

“What’s wrong?” Sniper finally asked.

Scout took a breath, then another. “Nobody saw me,” he repeated. “But… I think Spy—ours—saw me… coming back in late. He started asking questions. Then during the break today he said… he said something, I dunno the exact words, but he was… maybe he was just making fun of me. I dunno. But it sounded kinda like he might know something is going on.”

Snioer reached across the table, took Scout’s hand gently. Scout allowed it. “Well,” he said, “maybe he doesn’t. Just keep acting natural.”

Scout nodded, swallowed hard. “And if he does and we gotta make a break for it…” Scout trailed, looked at Sniper and back away. “…We, we planned for it. We’ve got a plan. We know what’s gonna happen.”

“Right,” Sniper agreed. “Don’t panic. The boss will send someone to talk to us. If she does the same thing she did with Soldier and Demo, she’ll tell us that we’re hired to kill each other specifically, and that the other one already agreed. She’ll say all sorts of things to confuse us and make us doubt ourselves.”

Scout nodded, swallowed hard again. Sniper waited a moment.

“And what are you meant to do?” he gently prompted.

Scout nodded. “Play dumb, then play along,” he managed, although his voice was a little choked. “Act mad for a little bit, then pretend I believe whatever she says to me.”

“Right. And I’ll do the same but give in quick since I’ve got the reputation that I’m a professional about this sort of thing, plan to kill everyone I meet and all that,” Sniper continued. “And then the weekend immediately following, we head to the bar in town, meet up, make our escape. Back before I had a Medic around to patch me up, I knew this sawbones down in southern California, and she’ll do what she has to do to get anything Medic’s put in us back out, and we mail them back to our bases then high-tail it to Canada.”

“And if somethin’ goes wrong, we’ll handle it,” Scout said, voice tight. “We know what we’re doin’.”

“We know what we’re doing,” Sniper agreed, squeezing his hand.

Scout blinked hard a few times. “What if…” he started to say, then stopped. “What if somethin’ goes real wrong though?”

“Then we’ll handle it,” Sniper replied.

“But what if—“

“Love,” Sniper cut in, squeezing his hand a bit harder, heart dropping at the way Scout squeezed his eyes shut, propped his forehead against his hand. “Love,” he continued, more gently. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we can’t afford to let it eat away at us right now. We need to keep acting natural.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ die if I gotta keep sitting around pretending I’m not scared twenty-four-fuckin’-seven, Snipes,” Scout said, voice broken. “I just sit around all day worrying about you and if anyone’s found out and if anyone’s gonna find out and if I’m gonna mess everything up for us. It’s all I can think about.”

“You can… let it out in little bursts,” Sniper said carefully. “Like now, when there’s nobody around.”

Scout sighed shakily. “I only get maybe ten hours a week that I can see you and I don’t wanna spend it freaking out like this, I feel like I’m ruining everything,” he admitted, sinking even further.

“You’re not,” Sniper assured. Scout’s exhale told him that he didn’t believe him.

Scout drank his coffee silently, still staring off into middle distance. Sniper dipped as well, watching his expression as well as he could without staring, which would just make Scout feel self-conscious.

“Can we lay down?” Scout asked, sounding tired, and Sniper nodded.

He laid down, and Scout wasted no time in curling up against his chest, pressing them as close together as he was physically capable of. Usually Sniper would get on his case about it, because they lived in the desert and it was the middle of summer, and even with it being past sundown it was hot and uncomfortable and they’d both get sweaty in no time. But this time he didn’t, he allowed it, just kneading and drawing circles into Scout’s bare back, connecting the dots on his freckles while Scout nestled his face in against Sniper’s neck, breathing slowly, deeply.

Minutes passed that way, and then Scout shifted slightly against him, and after a moment Sniper realized Scout was kissing his neck.

“Love,” he said quietly, hardly a whisper.

Scout ignored him.

“Love,” he repeated, a bit louder now, hands stopping.

“C’mon,” Scout mumbled against him. “What’s the problem?”

“You’re upset and freaked out,” Sniper replied, a little sharply.

Scout’s exhale was shaky. “I just need a minute to be out of my head, okay?” he tried, the annoyance in his voice crooked, and Sniper could hear the exhaustion underneath.

So he nodded, said some quiet affirmation, and Scout was shifting.

Sniper mostly just pet at Scout’s exposed skin while he got himself ready, rousing his body and soothing his mind. Stroked and pinched, let himself be distracted from his own nerves and the weight in his chest by the sounds Scout started making and the weight on his lap. By the time Scout was adjusting, sitting up on his knees so Sniper could shuffle his pants the rest of the way off, slowly lowering himself down around Sniper with all kinds of gorgeous little noises, his mind was adrift, too busy trying to register so many nerves lighting up to dwell on things like his life situation.

Scout moved fast, something there in his eyes that told Sniper he wasn’t completely distracted yet, and the jolt of his hips bordered on uncomfortable, on too much, making Sniper’s breath catch in his throat. It only took a minute or so for Scout to make a noise of frustration, motions stopping with a final jerky roll, chewed-off nails digging into the softness of Sniper’s stomach. “Get on top,” he panted.

Sniper nodded, wrapped an arm around Scout’s lower back, braced his elbow. Carefully rolled them, repositioning them, pressing an apologetic kiss in against Scout’s collarbone when he made a sound of discomfort. “Ready?” he asked quietly, and Scout nodded, head falling back.

It only took a few seconds before he looked back up at Sniper though, eyebrows furrowing. “What’re you…?” he trailed breathlessly, clearly confused.

“Taking it slow,” Sniper replied, voice still quiet, gentle. He reached a hand down to adjust Scout’s thigh just slightly higher up on his waist, and Scout opened his mouth, presumably to complain, but all he could do was release a moan at the next slow push, angled just right.

Despite the large majority of his body demanding that Sniper pick up the pace and rail into Scout like there was no tomorrow—and who knew, maybe there wouldn’t be—he kept his pace slow and easy, moving just right to make Scout’s back arch, his hands curl in against the sheets, then Sniper’s hair as he gently guided him to do so. Scout looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes, and Sniper looked right back, allowing himself now, and only now, only in the privacy and secrecy of his own house and home, to show his love on his face, bright and clear as he watched Scout fall into the throes of pleasure. That was his only goal. He could finish himself off later for all he cared—right then, Scout deserved, needed, to be pampered and shown that Sniper loved him. More than anything else in the world.

Why did he have to be on the other team, Sniper asked in his own mind, eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the weight of the question. He didn’t get an answer, so he just opened them again and moved to start kissing across any skin he could reach, starting to jerk Scout off in slow, easy motions, giving him that little twist at the end that he enjoyed so much.

Scout was practically a puddle by the time he was done, Sniper’s only warning before he came being a hard twitch in his hand and a gasp half an octave higher than Scout ever got. He kept his motions steady, even if his hand sped slightly, wringing out every gasp and half-stammered syllable that he could before shivering took over and Scout fell back limp against the bed. Sniper pulled out as gingerly as he could, wincing as the heat and tightness left him.

Scout tried to start talking twice, and managed it on the third time. “Why’d you stop?” he half-slurred, blinking up at Sniper, dazed and fucked stupid. “You could’ve finished off, it’s okay.”

“That would’ve hurt,” Snioer pointed out gently, finding his boxers and wiping Scout’s mess off of his hand.

“That’s okay, I would’ve been fine,” Scout said.

“No,” Sniper replied, cupping Scout’s cheek now, looking him dead in the eye. Scout’s eyes widened at the suddenness, the intensity in Sniper’s gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m never, ever going to hurt you. Not if I can bloody help it. We clear?”

Scout looked at him with those big blue eyes for a few more moments. Then, over the course of a few seconds, his expression crumpled, and then he was lunging up to pull Sniper into an embrace, sobbing hard.

Later in the night, Scout would suck him off and they’d talk about other things, minds far away from their situation, finding joy and comfort in each other, and joy of a different kind in each other’s bodies as strength and vigor slowly returned to them. But in that moment, Sniper just held on Scout, wishing more than anything else that he would never have to let go.


	12. Sniper/Scout, Short Shorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Sniper froze up, staring at Scout as he strode into the kitchen.

“Mornin’ Snipes,” he greeted casually, leaning past him to grab an apple from the bowl of fruit they kept next to the coffee maker. Sniper stared wordlessly for a few moments then suddenly flinched at burning heat against his hand, and quickly glanced down and realized he’d overflowed his mug as he’d been pouring his coffee. He cursed, quickly moving to put his hand under cold water in the sink just to one side. When he glanced back up, Scout was leaned on the counter, smirking at him as he chewed on a bite of apple.

The little wanker was doing it on purpose.

“You seem distracted,” Scout observed, tone chipper.

“Why are you wearing that?” Sniper hissed, a glance around the kitchen to be sure nobody was close enough to hear him. He glanced Scout up and down again, his face going hot, having to glance away as Scout cocked his hip out just that much further. “Oh god, no, no, you need to go and change.”

“Why?” Scout asked innocently, his own tone hushed too, leaning far into Sniper’s personal space and batting his eyelashes. “Because all you really wanna do is bend me over the counter and—?”

Sniper clapped a hand over Scout’s mouth, face absolutely on fire, and Scout protested, flirtation shifting to indignance in the blink of an eye.

“Lad, but some bloody pants on!” Demo called from the other room, apparently spotting him through the doorway.

Scout licked Sniper’s hand, and a Sniper recoiled, making a sound of disgust. His mouth free, he turned to Demo, hands on his hip. “These _are_ pants!” Scout retorted haughtily.

“Barely!” Demo scoffed, rolling his eye.

Sniper picked up his mug and left the kitchen, flush spreading up to his ears as he heard Scout’s sneakers on the floor a half, step behind him, resisting the urge to say something when Scout sat down right next to him.

Scout went for runs in the morning and once at night after dinner, Sniper knew that. Apparently it woke him up, got his blood pumping and mind moving and ready for the day and helped him wind down and work off any left over energy from battle to get better sleep. And usually it was chilly out, right around dusk and right around dawn, and he wore a pair of sweatpants so he wouldn’t freeze. But it had been even hotter than usual as of late, and apparently with a shift in weather came a shift in wardrobe.

A rather loose-fitting tank top, and a pair of shorts so short that they might as well have been called briefs, clearly just a bit too small with the way they hugged at Scout, and paired with the same long socks Scout wore with his uniform, pulled all the way up to sit high against his knees.

Sniper wanted desperately to take two handfuls of Scout’s exposed thighs and pull him hard up into a kiss, wanted to see his legs flex as he tried to find his balance on his toes, wanted to throw Scout’s legs over his shoulders and grind against him, still in those shorts, until he made an absolute mess of them.

Some part of him was burning hot and jealous at the fact that their teammates got to see Scout in that outfit, as well, and he fought to push it down. He’d slept with Scout exactly twice, the first time a drunken mix-up that he quickly tried to move past and the second time a less-drunken even-messier mix-up that he continued to pretend didn’t happen, mostly because he knew he’d made a fool of himself, doling out all sorts of praises and compliments that he half regretted, since Scout had taken the time ever since to occasionally hit on Sniper in a way that he wasn’t entirely sure was serious. He had absolutely no place to get jealous, no place at all.

It was distracting, fighting back the force of fantasies and jealousy and embarrassment all at once. And all while, out of the corner of his eyes, he could tell that Scout was staring at him, still munching away at his apple.

After a brief, very tense silence, he finally looked over to meet Scout’s stare, challenging him. Scout wiped away a dribble of juice with his thumb in a filthy motion, licking his lips. Sniper did not attempt to make eye contact again, and did not make further conversation with the team for the rest of the day.

The next morning, Sniper woke up from a _very_ vivid dream and found himself stiff and aching. He groaned, rolling over to try and ignore it and wait for it to go away, and when that didn’t work he glanced at his clock to see how long he had until he needed to get ready, to see if he had time to take care of it.

Hell, he was up ridiculously early. A good half hour before he generally was. He closed his eyes shut tight, but they flew open a second later in realization.

Scout would be out on his run right about then.

Sniper moved over to his table and quickly re-assembled his rifle from where he’d taken it apart for its standard maintenance, pulled on pants and an undershirt over the boxers he’d used as sleepwear, then quickly exited the camper.

He was parked about a kilometer and a half—give or take—away from the base, but his rifle was generally meant to shoot about that far or farther anyways. It wasn’t loaded just then (checking twice to make sure), and so he lounged against the side of his camper in the shadow it cast and took a look.

For two full minutes, nothing. Then a figure moving into view, and Sniper adjusted the scope in two practiced movements to bring it into focus, and it was Scout.

In those bloody shorts again.

The tank top was different—the other one had stripes on it, Sniper was pretty sure, and this one was just solid black—but otherwise it was identical, right down to one sock sitting ever-so-slightly higher than the other one.

And Scout skidded to an abrupt stop, eyes locking on to something just to one side of him, and it took a moment of Sniper also trying to see what it was before he realized it was the laser sight of his own rifle leaving a distinct, recognizable dot against the wall.

He froze up for a moment, muscles locking in his panic, and was about to force himself to jerk his rifle down and retreat back into the camper when Scout turned, looked out towards him, eyes searching for a second or two, squinted against the sunlight. Then he seemed to spot the silhouette of Sniper’s camper, and then—

And then he started grinning.

Scout glanced off towards the back door he’d been beelining towards, and took a few steps back, turning and moving in the direction he’d just come from. Then he stopped, leaned himself back against the wall facing towards Sniper, and started stretching.

They all got their occasional lectures from Soldier about good workout habits to prevent strain and help with building overall endurance, and so they’d all heard a million times about the importance of stretching both before and after workouts to prevent injury. And so when Scout moved his arms up over his head and pulled them back and forth to their full range of motion, it only took Sniper a few seconds to realize what he was doing.

Scout quickly stretched his arms, his back, his neck. Then he moved to start stretching his legs, and he realized what Scout was _doing_.

Scout glanced in his direction once or twice, occasionally looked over to where Sniper’s sight was resting, glowing faintly against the wall. He bent forward, easily touching his toes, clearly the only thing protesting the movement being the shorts pulled tight over his ass, shifting in a way that practically made Sniper’s mouth water.

He was hard. There was no ignoring it now, he was fully, properly hard, and starting to feel a little desperate.

Scout sat down, back to the wall again, and leaned to touch his toes sitting down. Then he promptly spread his legs apart, pointing his toes and rolling his ankles when he got situated, and Sniper’s eyes widened at the fact that his legs were practically at a 180 degree angle. Bugger. The little bastard was really flexible.

He shifted the rifle to rest against his knee so he could free up his hand, which he promptly used to pop the button on his pants open just to get a bit more comfortable.

But he promptly froze up as Scout apparently finished the last of his stretching and relaxed, legs falling into a more natural position, half-bent, and let one hand wander up over his own thigh. He glanced over at the sight against the wall, then flashed a grin in Sniper’s direction, smug, repeating that filthy little lick of his lips that he’d done the previous morning at breakfast. And there was a bulge there at the front of his shorts—well, a more obvious one.

He finished popping the button, then unzipped his pants as well, allowing his hand to dip inside.

Scout’s hand reached the apex of his thigh, and he looked over towards the door to the base for a second before he palmed at himself outright, and Sniper suddenly desperately wished he could hear Scout, because all he could do was watch the way Scout’s lips parted and try and remember what Scout sounded like when he was gasping with pleasure, try to match the circle his mouth made with the moans he released when Sniper had gone down on him, and his mouth really did water as he remembered, involuntarily, the way Scout had tasted.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and he shuffled his pants down enough to pull himself out, starting to stroke, needing to pull away from his scope briefly to spit into his palm to make the friction less dry and strange, the precum starting to leak from him not enough.

When he looked back, Scout had braced one arm under his thigh to spread himself wide and was palming at himself in easy motions, stroking himself through the shorts—was the material really that thin, or was Scout not wearing underwear beneath? Both answers made Sniper throb, his breath escaping him in a shaky exhale. He wanted to grab and grope and taste and take, to bite or suck or spank hard enough to make Scout moan, he wanted to _feel_ him, lord did he want to feel him. He wanted to make Scout come, make him fall apart, drive that fucking smirk off his face and replace it with gasping, with crying out.

He had to settle for watching Scout grip at his own thigh, had to settle for tightening his hand around himself.

But then—no, fuck, _no_ , Scout was slowing down, blinking his eyes open. Smirking again. He glanced at the sight again, back forward, and started tracing out letters against his own chest, moving slowly.

M-O-R-E, L-A-T-E-R, he spelled out, and took a moment to relax, to adjust himself in his pants, to stand and brush himself off, tugging his tank back into place, his socks back up his legs. He paused, turned forward again. M-A-Y-B-E, he added, and then jogged to the door and went inside.

Sniper wound up finishing himself back off inside, biting down hard on his pillow to stifle his growls when he finally came, wishing he could be biting Scout’s neck instead.

Scout clearly barely saw it coming later that day. He was on dish duty for the night, and it was a while after dinner, and Scout had just gotten back from his run, spent a good twenty minutes outside doing his stretches and being a tease before once again getting up and walking away, and was doing a chore or two before he took a shower and turned in. And he gasped, startled, when he was suddenly crowded up against the sink. He quickly turned the water off and put down the glass he was holding, only to have his wrists snatched up and pressed hard against the wall above the sink.

“Think you’re real clever, don’t you?” Sniper practically snarled, hard against Scout’s ear, just as hard as what was pressing into Scout’s ass. “Think you can just play the tease, rile me up, that I won’t retaliate, that there won’t be _consequences_ , do you?”

“Snipes?” Scout asked, clearly still a little surprised but quickly recovering. His next remark was tinted with sarcasm. “Well _golly_ , Legs, I don’t know what the hell you’re _talkin’_ about, did I _do_ somethin’ to _upset_ you?”

He was cut off from further sass by a hard roll of Sniper’s hips, and he released a small noise, head facing forward again.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Sniper growled, and nipped against Scout’s pulse point, making him jolt again. “Especially wearing that around the whole bloody team. Who the hell do you think you are?”

Another noise as Sniper rolled his hips again, Scout’s head dropping further.

“If you’re going to say no, now’s your chance. Otherwise, I’m done playing this game with you, and I’m taking what’s been promised, and I’m _not_ holding back. Understood?” Sniper snapped, pausing to let Scout answer.

“Big fuckin’ words from the guy who ditched twice to the guy who he’s got no fuckin’ place staking a claim on, you stupid son of a bitch,” Scout replied sharply, and Sniper reached two realizations. First, that Scout wasn’t hurt by Sniper ignoring him after their two one night stands—he was _pissed off_. Second, that this wasn’t flirting or Scout being a mild tease, it was a punishment, a retaliation. This was Scout’s way of getting back at him. Cockteasing him to pure distraction and indulging him exactly long enough to leave him with blue balls.

Bastard. _Bastard_.

“Glad to see you finally started appreciating what all you got lucky with,” Scout spat, shoulders tight. “Makes you miss somethin’ a lot more once you don’t got it anymore and get a good nice look at it again, huh?”

Sniper was at a loss for words, a series of emotions—mostly shades of anger rapidly being overshadowed by shame—clogging up his mind.

“I’m not playin’ any more fuckin’ games with you, pal,” Scout spat next, turning to fix Sniper with a glare over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna fuck me, you’re gonna _keep_ fuckin’ me and you’re gonna quit with the disappearing act in the morning. If not, you’re gonna have to look at all’a this every fuckin’ day, sunrise and sunset, until winter shows up again. And you’re not gonna get a single goddamn thing from me. Because I’ve got fuckin’ _standards,_ and the only one your sorry ass has been meeting so far is giving good head and having a nice dick. I’m not some skinny little scrap’a meat you picked up at that shittier bar off the main road downtown and got sucked off by without ever learning his name, and I’m not gonna let you keep acting like I am until two in the morning then acting _embarrassed_ to be _seen_ with me once the sun comes up and we’re around the rest of the guys. We on the same page now?”

“You’ve been teasing me for days now—“ Sniper started in, but was cut off.

“Yeah, fuckin’ brag about it,” Scout snapped. Sniper blinked. “I want an answer right fuckin’ now—yes or no, long term or _nothin’_ —and I want you to get the _hell_ off’a me before I make you swallow your own kneecaps.”

Sniper backed off. Scout rubbed at his wrists, finally breaking eye contact, a furrow in his brow and a defensiveness in his stance that made Sniper recoil even slightly further. “I’m sorry,” Sniper finally managed.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry, ‘cus I fuckin’ _made you_ sorry,” Scout replied sharply, glaring again. “I didn’t _ask_ if you were sorry. I asked whether we’re gonna do this thing or not.”

Sniper considered it. In some ways, the idea of a relationship made him nervous, even if it was exclusively sexual. Promising anything made him a little nervous. But exclusivity didn’t seem like it would be a problem—besides the occasional fling to break a dry spell, he didn’t date much. Never found someone who he could tell about his work, or he found someone also in their line of work but couldn’t relax around them since he knew any day they might be hired to kill him.

He glanced Scout up and down. Maybe this would be okay, though. Maybe not. All he knew was that Scout definitely had a point, and it would be a long, long time until winter.

“Alright,” he answered, throat a little dry. “I’m game.”

And Scout grinned.

-

Below him and gasping, hips rolling, mouth open wide and face red, white socks up over his shoulders.

All over the line where shorts met thigh, Sniper bit and sucked, making sure to leave as many marks as he could get away with, gripping hard at his ass in a way that would definitely leave bruises behind with his fingerprints. And Scout loved it, moaning for more, don’t stop, please, oh fuck.

When he finally let one leg drop to palm at the other man’s erection, mimicking the motions he’d seen Scout performing on himself and soothing his tongue over the bite marks he’d left behind, Scout’s pitch kicked up half a octave, suddenly breathier, fewer words and more noise. And then he was pleading that he was close, wait, hold on, he was gonna—and Sniper groped hard, sucked hard, gripped hard, and Scout came bucking and wild into his shorts with a desperation that made Sniper suspect that he actually hadn’t even finished jacking off that morning, had probably just willed it away with a cold shower.

And then Scout was panting, looking down at him with hazy eyes, looking over the wet spot blooming at his crotch and the bite marks scattered all over his thighs and starting to go pink. “Fuck, I can’t wear these anymore now,” he seemed to realize.

Sniper hummed, licked languid across his inner thigh with the flat of his tongue, and Scout shivered through an aftershock. “Hmm. Shame,” he said neutrally, and Scout kicked him on the back.


	13. Sniper/Scout, Boastful (Trans!Sniper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

It was only half-joking, yeah, but that still meant that half of it was a joke.

It mostly started as just… an extension of what Scout was already kind of doing. It had started on him trying to get Snioer to laugh, and when it turned out he liked doing that, he’d worked hard to dig up all sorts of material. Puns and lame dad jokes and stuff, mostly. Then when he’d run low on those, he moved on to cheesy pickup lines. Then eventually he moved on to just regular pickup lines, then it somehow morphed into straight up flirting.

Kissy faces at Sniper across the room when he was trying to focus on a different conversation and pretending he hadn’t been doing anything when the other person looked was one of them that he had fun with for a while. Offhandedly saying “hot” when Sniper did normal, regular things, because to be fair, Sniper was a real attractive dude. Sniper occasionally bopping him on the shoulder for a sassy remark, to which Scout would make a dramatic noise and go “harder” just to make Sniper blush. Casually calling Sniper “babe” or “hon” when he wasn’t really paying attention just to see him sputter a bit.

He didn’t think it was ever gonna go anywhere, not just on the basis of it mostly being a joke, but also because Sniper was _wayyy_ out of Scout’s league, as far as he was concerned. Mysterious Australian marksman, tall and handsome, real sweet and awfully polite in a way that made him the exact kind of guy Scout would’ve wanted to bring home to his Ma back when he lived in Boston and was still trying to date for real.

And he knew Sniper was into dudes, had gathered as much when Sniper one day quietly murmured some remark about an ex-boyfriend and promptly tried to brush past it. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was into _Scout_.

But he liked the way Sniper’s mouth ticked up at the corner when he hit him with a really good pick up line. Liked the way Sniper would sometimes roll his eyes, sometimes flush, sometimes sputter and smack his shoulder. It was nice, the thing they had going. Friends, but better than coworker friends, but kind of different than friends. It was a weird dynamic they had going on.

They were in Scout’s room one day, playing checkers on the shitty little board Scout had picked up from a thrift store at some point and never gotten around to throwing away. Sitting across from each other with the board between them on Scout’s bed, Scout criss-cross and Sniper half-lounged against the wall.

Sniper finished off his last two pieces in a double jump, and Scout swore, having lost track of the piece responsible.

“You suck, dude,” Scout complained, picking up the pieces and stacking them with the rest of his own.

“Mate, _you_ suck,” Sniper corrected.

“Only on weekends,” Scout shot back, only a second delayed, and winked. “But hey, I can make exceptions.”

“Is that right?” Sniper asked.

This was a new bit. Sniper didn’t usually push the joke forward, or prompt him for more. Scout rolled with it. “Yeah, man,” he laughed. “I can start taking walk-in appointments for a nice face.”

“How far do you schedule in advance?” Sniper asked next, raising an eyebrow.

“Not too busy these days,” Scout shrugged.

“Might be able to say you’re able to… squeeze someone in?” Sniper asked, and Scout’s heart hammered, even as he burst into laughter.

“Aw, fuck, that’s a good line. Jesus, I’m mad I didn’t think of that first,” he managed, and Sniper was smiling too, looked away after a second.

“Thanks, mate,” he replied, looking satisfied. He shifted, not looking back. “You’d think there’d be a waiting list a mile long.”

“Fuckin’ tell me about it,” Scout groaned, leaning back to get a bit more comfortable. “I mean, seriously. There’s like _nobody_ out here. Unless I wanna dick down on some sand or whatever, I’m shit outta luck. And most of the people in town are way too old for me, and the people that ain’t are like, either taken or super weird or just not interested. And yeah, one or two are all clear, everything’s fine, but the second the word relationship crops up, poof, gone, smoke cloud, fuckin’ _witness protection_ levels of disappeared. What’s a guy gotta do to get appreciated a little around here, y’know?”

Sniper nodded and hummed sympathetically. “Well, I’m sure there’s one or two people around who can tell a good thing when they see it,” he said, tilting his head.

“We talkin’ besides you?” Scout asked, grinning and starting to gesture at himself. “I mean, look at this, look at all’a this! No duh, I know you’ve got two workin’ eyes and at least a _little_ bit of taste. Even if your food is fucked up and weird.”

Sniper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Humble, are we?”

“What, am I supposed to be?” Scout asked, cheeky and unapologetic.

“It’s alright. It’s cute,” Sniper replied, glancing him up and down.

Scout flushed. The tables weren’t usually turned like this, and it was taking surprisingly little to fluster him. “Thanks,” was all he could think of. He cursed himself for not having a better line. “I mean, yeah. Of course I am. Uh, it is. Fuck.”

Sniper chuckled, and sat up. “Thought you usually hate it when people call you cute,” he pointed out, tilting his head back and forth to stretch his neck where he’d been sitting weird.

“I mean, it’s okay if it’s… you,” Scout said, words slowing as he realized how sappy that sounded. “I—I’d be okay with—“

He stammered a little, distracted by the visual of Sniper pulling off his shades, which he almost never did, and folding them up, setting them off to one side and fixing him with a look, eyes sharp and overwhelming now that they were uncovered and Scout was faced with the absolute brunt of them.

“—I mean I-I-I’d be okay with all sorts of things,” he said, a little desperate to turn the conversation back to their standard flirty jokes. He felt way out of his depth all of a sudden and it made him a little uncomfortable.

Then every muscle in Scout’s body froze as Sniper moved forward.

He knocked over their little stacks of checker chips with his knee, sending a few in a lazy topple down off the bed towards the floor, and a gentle push to Scout’s shoulder was all it took to make him fall back onto his back, and then Sniper was over him, on top of him, inside of his thigh against the outside of Scout’s propped up on his arms.

“What sorts of things?” Sniper prompted quietly.

Scout’s breath caught, staring up at Sniper with wide eyes.

After a few seconds of silence, Sniper’s eyebrows started to furrow. “You awright, mate?” he asked gently.

“Yeah! Yeah, for sure,” Scout said right away, fumbling to try and find a good place to put his hands, settling on Sniper’s shoulders despite the awkward bend it put into his elbows between them.

“Are you… not ready, to…?” he started to ask next, trailing a little, and Scout was faced with a series of concepts. That Sniper thought their arrangement was one where Scout could be ready for this. That Sniper thought they had some kind of arrangement. That Sniper wanted him.

The last one buzzed around in his head hard enough that Scout didn’t even remember to respond.

“We can stop,” Sniper said next, and Scout fumbled for a good reply.

“No! No, I’m good. It’s good,” he said, trying to calm his hammering pulse.

Sniper sat up a little, glancing him up and down again. “It just seems like you’re nervous is all,” he said.

And he was, and he was sure his hands would be shaking if they weren’t holding on to Sniper’s shoulders. “I’m good,” he said anyways. “I just—I dunno what you, what you like, what you want.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sniper replied, and Scout had to fight hard not to jump at the feeling of Sniper trailing a hand down his side. “What do you want to do?”

Scout swallowed hard. “Can,” he started to ask, and he didn’t know how he could be reading this wrong but he was sure that he was, had to be, felt this was an insane thing to be able to request but Sniper had asked so he tried anyways, “can I touch you?”

Sniper shrugged, sitting up just slightly further, squaring his shoulders to open himself up. “Go ahead,” he prompted, and Scout did.

He managed to undo the buttons of Sniper’s shirt, pushing it down his shoulders a little ways before he realized he had an undershirt on and that it would need to go as well. A glance up at Sniper, and Sniper chuckled, sat back slightly, pulled off his shirt and undershirt both before he leaned back forward within range of Scout’s hands.

Scout traced across all the scars he could find with gentle fingers, trailing them momentarily over two large scars there at Sniper’s pecs. “How’d you get these?” he asked, glanced up at Sniper.

Sniper frowned. “Mate, I’ve told you already,” he said quietly, and Scout took a good few moments to realize what Sniper meant, then looked down again with wide eyes.

Somehow the words “top surgery” hadn’t brought him the mental image of big, wide scars. Suddenly he was all the more impressed with Sniper. “Oh yeah,” he said, tracing over them again. “Huh.”

Sniper fixed him with a befuddled smile, the sort of fond “are you serious, how’d you forget that?” look he tended to get from people who actually liked him, and Scout could only smile back sheepishly. Finally Sniper rolled his eyes and plucked on Scout’s shirt. “Planning on ever taking this off?” he asked, and Scout quickly nodded, trying to wrestle himself free of the shirt as fast as he could. “Easy, mate. No time limit, here.”

“I know!” Scout said a little defensively, finally getting the shirt off over his head, and Sniper smoothed down the hair on one side of his head where it was probably sticking up and looking dumb.

God, he probably looked so dumb. There lying beneath a big, cool guy like Sniper, all… scrawny and already flushing and not a single cool scar to speak of—

“Mate, it’s alright if you’re nervous,” Sniper said, worry increasing.

“No I’m not nervous why would I be nervous I’m totally cool,” Scout said all in a rush.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I mean, maybe a _little_ a little nervous, but just because I—“ And he realized it in the same moment he fished through his head for an excuse. “I just don’t have anything to… y’know, stuff we might need.”

Sniper stared, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I don’t have any condoms or anything on me,” Scout finally admitted, surely flushed down to his chest.

Sniper’s lips parted around a silent “oh”, and he nodded. “Awright. Well, that’s fine, still plenty we can do,” he decided aloud after a second. “How’s about I tug you off, you do the same for me?”

Scout didn’t know how he was in a situation where it was acceptable to ask the thing he blurted a second later, but thank god that he was. “Can I go down on you?” he asked, not entirely sure what words he would use in the specific and not wanting to be super rude and ask.

Sniper laughed, grinning. “Sure, mate. If you want,” he nodded. Another look up and down. “Mind if I get you off first, though? I’ll admit, I’ve, er, been looking forward to the chance a bit.”

“Go ahead,” Scout said weakly, and Sniper’s grin widened, and he moved to work Scout’s pants open in simple, confident motions.

It was a little embarrassing that he was so hard already, and he had to look away from Sniper, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. Sniper hummed, and then spit into his hand, and then he was jacking Scout off, steady and nice.

“How’s that?” he prompted softly into Scout’s collarbone when all Scout did for a while was pant and gasp quietly.

“S’good,” he managed, voice shaky. “Real good. Real fuckin’ good.”

So good that he felt a moan rising up in his chest and pressed his hand against his mouth, biting down on the meaty part of his palm to try to stifle it.

“Oh, no,” Sniper chided, voice a growl, taking Scout’s wrist and pinning it just to one side of him, grinning. “I wanna hear you.”

Scout started to protest, but then Sniper squeezed _nice nice nice_ over the head and it made his lashes flutter, his back arch, his mouth fall open in a gasp trailed by a moan, and his face was absolutely on fire.

“There’s a beauty,” Sniper purred, and pulled his hand back to spit in it a second time before he returned, picking up speed and apparently greatly enjoying the way Scout squirmed, the noises that rose up in his throat. “There you go. Nice, aren’t it?”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, and he wished he could shut up, wished he could shut his big fuckin’ mouth for a minute before he embarrassed himself, but he couldn’t, could only whimper out praises and pleads as Sniper drew him closer to, and finally over, the edge, heralded by a weak groan and Sniper’s name.

He came back down to earth to the feeling of lips and stubble against his cheek, his jaw. Scout blindly fumbled with his newly-freed hand towards his dresser, managing to find the tissues and mop himself off, still flushed, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Cute,” Sniper hummed, looking down at him, and Scout groaned, head falling back for a second to finish collecting himself.

“Uh,” he tried to say, blinked once or twice, looked at Sniper. “Hey, let me hit you with somethin’ real quick.”

“Mm?” Sniper asked, mildly intrigued.

“How about you, uh.” And usually he was so much smoother, way cooler, but Sniper had him frazzled in a way that most people didn’t, not even that really hot guy he met the year after he graduated, the one with the leather jacket and the cologne that made him practically lightheaded. He fumbled for a way to phrase it that was hot, but couldn’t seem to find anything, and just sighed, spitting it out and cutting the bullshit. “How about you sit on my face?”

Because in a cursory glance, he’d noticed that while Sniper was smiling, movements languid and smooth in a way that meant he was very much into the proceedings, he didn’t seem to have a bulge in his pants, there being no hardness to speak of when he ground his hips forward into Scout’s thigh. And apparently he’d made the right call, because Sniper chuckled and agreed.

And to be honest, he didn’t remember much after that. It was mostly a haze, movement and heat, Sniper’s husky voice dripping into his ears much in the same way that slickness dropped down Scout’s chin and cheeks. All he knew was that Sniper was gorgeous, and seemed to like what Scout could do with his mouth—and damn right he did, he had enough experience that he would be a little insulted otherwise. All he knew was that halfway through he found himself outright hard again, and wound up jerking himself off desperately with his free even as he continued trying to wring noises out of Sniper with mouth and fingers, muffled groans escaping him as Sniper decided to tease him about it in that low raspy voice he was starting to get addicted to.

Sniper finished first, and the rush he got feeling Sniper’s legs close right around his head drove him over the edge, bucking and making Sniper roll forward slightly and prolonging things for him.

And finally Sniper was leaning up onto his knees, reaching for the same tissues Scout had gone for earlier and laughing at the picture Scout made. His hair was all stuck up on one side again, he was pretty sure, and his face was red and shiny with wetness, lips swollen and parted as he panted, staring up at Sniper with bright eyes.

“We gotta do this again some time,” Scout said before Sniper was even done wiping himself down.

And Sniper laughed. “Sure, mate. Any day of the week.”


	14. Sniper/Scout, Massage (Fem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

As soon as Sniper was in the comfort and privacy of her own home, she immediately moved to start unbuttoning her shirt.

She shucked off her hat and shades for as long as it took her to pull off her button-up and the undershirt beneath, and grunted with effort as she pulled at the sweaty binder underneath.

A knock at the door of the camper. She turned her head up towards it. “Half-naked,” she said, deadpan, loud enough to be heard from the other side.

“Aw fuck yeah,” Scout replied, immediately pushing through the door, and Sniper snorted, rolling her eyes.

“You can lock that behind you,” Sniper said, getting back to work pulling the binder off over her head, breathing a sigh of relief when it was finally off, rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath or two. “Bugger, that thing aches after a while.”

“Why do you even wear that?” Scout asked, fishing through Sniper’s stash of soda and apparently finding something the liked, popping the tab on it. “If it bugs you so much?”

“Kickback is already a bastard without having to worry about these getting in the way,” she said, gesturing at her own chest. “And they’re a problem when I use my bow, too. And with running and the like. And I’ll probably have back problems by the time I hit forty. You’re lucky, you know that? Just a sturdy bra gets the job done well enough for you.”

“Pros and cons,” Scout shrugged, sitting and sipping her soda. “No back problems, but a whole lot of shitty names in middle and high school. And dudes hardly ever looked my way. Most guys don’t like a girl with a flatter chest than them, feel?”

“Well, shame for them that I’m not interested in guys,” Sniper said, finishing off with rolling her shoulders out and moving to grab a drink for herself, putting back on her shades and hat for comfort’s sake almost as an afterthought.

“Shame for them, lucky for me, huh?” Scout asked, shooting her a grin.

“Damn right,” Sniper agreed, clinking their cans together.

They talked briefly about battle that day, about missed kills, about nice saves. But Scout kept pausing in conversation as Sniper rolled her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked suddenly, stopping a story dead in its tracks.

“Just moved around a lot more than usual today. Chest and ribs are killing me,” Sniper explained, shifted, grimaced, stood. “Think I’ll just take some medication over it, see if that helps—“

“Nah, nah, hold on,” Scout said, stopping her with a hand on her arm, a grin. “Let me help.”

And Sniper was intrigued enough by that phrase that she went along with it.

Scout instructed her to lie on her front, which took some some creative pillow placement to prevent her chest hurting even worse, but she managed it. Then Scout’s weight was resting on her, just below her waist, and Scout was pressing thumbs into her back.

She made a soft noise, adjusting her arms to lie bent just above her head. Scout took that as permission enough to start in, pressing and massaging at the sore muscles of her back with ease that suggested it was something she’d done at some point a few times previously. Sniper allowed herself to relax, her breaths evening out and deepening, drowsiness creeping into frame slowly but surely as Scout made her way down her back and up again, once, twice, three times.

“Babe, you’ve _gotta_ get some better posture or somethin’, you’re crazy tense,” Scout chirped, drawing her out of a doze, making her tilt her head a bit.

“Can’t help it, it comes with the territory, snipers get bad backs, love,” she informed her, voice slow and calm.

“Maybe,” Scout shrugged. She finished making her way back up Sniper’s back, and then shifted her weight to one side, no longer resting it on Sniper so heavily. “Roll over.”

Sniper hummed in complaint, but sighed, moving the pillows out from under her and putting them up near the headboard again, then rolling over to face Scout, movements relaxed.

Scout’s palms put pressure against her ribcage for a moment, pushing on exhale and releasing on inhale, before flashing Sniper a grin and ghosting her hands up to grip lightly at Sniper’s breasts.

Snioer couldn’t help but groan, eyes squeezing shut, the sensation just on the edge of too much but also so terribly too little. “Bloody—“ she started, but it cut off with another noise as Scout squeezed for a second, releasing a heavy breath, looking up with hazy eyes.

Scout’s hands moved in steady motions against her, always easing off when the pressure became too much on sore flesh, and it actually helped Sniper a lot with the achiness, even if it did give her a different problem altogether.

She felt her limit approaching fast, and snagged fingers in Scout’s belt loops, pulling hard to align their hips and making her squeak in surprise. “Don’t you go starting something you can’t finish, love,” she warned, breathless.

“I never do,” Scout replied in a snap, eyes glittering, grinning down at her in a way that was entirely too self-satisfied.

Sniper flipped the younger woman beneath her for the audacity, starting to nip at her collarbones and neck, wanting to unravel her right back. She tugged at the hem of Scout’s shirt meaningfully, and she quickly stripped it off, Sniper leaning back to start fumbling off her and Scout’s belts, letting them both clink to the floor off to one side of the bed.

She had to lean forward to help Scout with her bra, the other having difficulty getting her arms around behind her when she was lying down. But then it was off, and Sniper flashed a grin at her before leaning in to kiss Scout hard, arching their bodies together and swallowing her gasp as their chests made contact.

She pulled back, took a moment to file away Scout’s bashful blush in her mind for later. Then she tugged on Scout’s pants with a raised eyebrow, and received an enthusiastic nod, and then they were apart again as they finished stripping, Scout clumsy in how borderline frantic she was, Sniper efficiently as she kept her hands slow and steady.

Sniper took a moment to indulge herself in sucking a mark against Scout’s collarbone before she started shifting their position, dragging one of Scout’s legs up to rest high on her hip and shifting her own knee up the bed in parallel. She sat against Scout’s thigh for a moment, looking over her expression. She didn’t see any hesitation, but she asked the question anyways. “This alright?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scout agreed, shifting what little she could. “C’mon. Don’t be a tease.”

Sniper grinned, leaning forward, grinding her hips down even as she kept herself down against Scout’s thigh rather than meeting Scout in the middle. “Oh, sweet’eart, when on earth have I ever been a tease?” she chided, smirking.

Scout’s expression fell into a pout. She reached a hand down as if to move them along, but Snioer caught it, pressed it up against the bed near Scout’s head.

“None of that,” she tsk’d. “You’ve had your fun, and now I want mine.”

Scout was flushed up to her ears, and her chest was moving quick. Sniper finally decided to take pity, and shifted them up and together, groaning and clenching her teeth at the first heated moment of contact.

It took a minute or so to find just the right angle. She found it for Scout before she found it for herself, and couldn’t help but smile at the way she gasped, head rolling back, throat bared.

“There’s a love, what a beauty,” Sniper praised, just to make her hips roll, and when they did she found the angle she’d been looking for, further commentary cut off with a sharp inhale.

She moved slowly for two reasons—firstly that she liked to draw things out for her own pleasure and for Scout’s frustration, secondly because so fresh out of her binder, even with that lovely massage earlier, it hurt to have her breasts swinging too vigorously. There was a price to pay for being on top, admittedly, but too much pain would just ruin the mood they had going.

But then suddenly Scout was untangling her free hand from the bedsheets and letting it rise between them, cupping at her own breast for a moment—and wasn’t that a lovely sight?—before giving Sniper the same treatment.

Sniper’s breath hitched, hips bucking out of rhythm for a moment, and Scout smirked up at her, even as her own eyelashes fluttered for a moment. “You like that, babe?” she taunted. “Or do you want me to stop?”

“Stop and I’ll fuckin’ end you, love, girlfriend or not,” Sniper managed, ramping her pace up just barely, and Scout was gasping again, squeezing reflexively, and Sniper bucked her hips, and the feedback loop continued.

Scout was done first, of course she was. But she was at least game to hang in there until Sniper was done as well, at which point she released all points of contact to fall back against the bed, sighing in contentment for a moment then pausing for exactly five more seconds before she was getting up and starting to clean up.

Meanwhile, Sniper needed a little while longer to lay there on her side and collect herself, not being a living battery and all. And she groaned as she finally pushed herself into a sitting position, making up her mind to wipe herself down.

But before she could move to stand, Scout returned, pushing her to lie on her back again with one hand and spreading Sniper’s legs apart, starting to clean her up with a cool, wet cloth.

And god, she didn’t often let Scout do this sort of thing, pampering her and all. But it did feel nice when she did.

“Still achy?” Scout asked with a wince when Sniper did finally sit up.

“Yeah,” she nodded, rolled her shoulder. “But it’ll fade. The, er, massage helped a lot. I’m all sorts of relaxed now.”

“Real thorough massage,” Scout joked, trailing a fingernail down Sniper’s inner thigh and watching her jerk.

“Sensitive,” she warned, pitch a bit higher than usual for a moment, and Scout stopped, laughing. “But thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, just think of it as me paying you back for all the soda I drink,” she joked.

Sniper wrapped an arm up around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle kiss. When she pulled back, she looked Scout’s face over for a moment. “Or maybe because we’re in love and sometimes that means doing nice things for each other?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Scout flushed, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, yeah, that too. But I’m not gonna _say_ it, because I’m not a _sap_.”

“Not a sap?” Sniper repeated, tilting her head. “Then where on earth did all this stickiness come from—?”

She was cut off by Scout shoving a pillow into her face, and she laughed so hard that it made her ribs start aching again for a completely different reason than before, but it was worth it. It was always worth it.


	15. Sniper/Scout, Headset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for the joke being that they left scout's headset on, and cartoonish non-graphic temporary suicide played as comedy)

“Fucking— _shit_ ,” Scout panted, voice pressurized as he tried to keep quiet against the onslaught he was facing. 

The hand on him sped, and he couldn’t hold back a whine, rocking forward, hitching his legs tighter around Sniper’s waist and clinging to him all the harder. Sniper just chuckled against his jaw, nipping idly as he tugged Scout off in easy motions, free hand groping down the back of his pants more than supporting him—not that Scout needed further support. He could hold himself up just fine.

“Take it easy,” Sniper scolded when Scout bucked particularly hard and threatened their balance slightly, grip tightening to bruising on his ass for a second, but that just made Scout buck again, gasping and groaning quietly, head tilted back towards the ceiling.

And Sniper rolled his eyes, continuing on, knowing better than to start an argument over it. They only had maybe ten minutes between rounds, and Scout had been a menace all day about making sure to stand near Sniper’s sightline before he bent over to tie his shoelaces, or leaned against a crate during a quiet moment. And it wouldn’t do much in the long term to get Scout off like this, fast and desperate and rough in the relative peace of his perch, but it might at least get him to bugger off until they were done for the day and he could give him a proper retaliation.

But he was surprised when all at once, Scout went tense. Not tense in the way of “Sniper did his job really well and now Scout would be sorted until the end of the day”, tense in the way of “oh fuck oh shit oh Jesus fuck”.

He was about to start asking what was wrong, tension rising in his shoulders as he quickly glanced towards the door, straining to hear. But there weren’t any footsteps or anything. So what was—?

Scout yanked off his headset and threw it across the room.

Sniper stared at Scout. Scout stared at Sniper.

“Uh,” Scout said, voice cracking spectacularly.

“Scout, what happened?” Sniper asked, stern, suddenly serious.

“So,” Scout said, eyes wide, face flushed bright red. “Turns out my mic was on.”

Sniper felt all the blood leave his face.

“I think you might’ve hit the… the long-term on switch. When you were, at my neck. So. My mic was on. And.” Scout looked absolutely mortified. “Uh. Demo tagged in to tell me to shut it off. And. He and Soldier definitely heard, at least. Maybe everyone else.”

Sniper was frozen entirely.

Scout shifted, legs dropping from Sniper’s waist, and Sniper managed for force his limbs into motion, letting Scout down. Scout tucked himself back into his pants. “I, uh,” Scout said, and walked over to the window. “I’m just gonna,” Scout said, climbing over the sill. “Yeah, I’ll just,” Scout said, and dropped.

A crunch down below. Sniper pulled his hat down over his face, absolutely burning alive with embarrassment.

He did not make eye contact with the rest of the team for the remainder of the day.


	16. Sniper/Scout, Confessions (Trans!Both)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

He was pretty sure he was falling in love with Scout, and that was a very scary thing.

At first he admittedly looked down on Scout a little bit. Some kid, looked fresh out of high school maybe, and people that young in the professional killing line of work were usually dead stupid, and he seemed to have the boasts to match, loud and distracting on the battlefield and always laughing at high volumes in the locker rooms before and after.

Then he found out one day, late, the team gathered around a bonfire that Pyro and the Engineer had scraped together, low over a bottle of beer, that Scout was only a handful of years younger than him, about the same age Sniper had started at. Found out about a mother who was working two jobs and starting to go on sixty, and brothers desperately trying to both support their families and get help with the nightmares that had followed them home from war. About his first stints with crime, a last resort when nobody would hire him because he had a diploma but couldn’t seem to get a good score on any literacy tests. About a police record a mile long and taking an offer to go out into the desert to die over and over again because apparently, blokes like him “didn’t do well in prison”.

For a while, Sniper thought he said that because he was a bit on the scrawny side. Then one day in the locker rooms, Scout passed by him in a towel, having forgotten to take off his grip tape before trying to shower, and he had it wrapped up over his chest rather than around his waist, and a few things clicked.

It came up eventually, although he couldn’t remember how. It was just the two of them leaned up against one of the buildings and trying to eat lunch as quick as they could before battle got called again, talking quietly. Scout had gotten top surgery it turned out, at the same time Medic had to cut into him anyways, but wasn’t much a fan of needles and so wasn’t on to that part yet, was waiting for Medic to finish up working on some alternative method. Sniper hadn’t gotten any kind of surgery yet—maybe couldn’t, maybe wouldn’t, maybe he was just scared, but it didn’t really matter—and had been on a steady injection schedule for almost four years. Scout admitted that he was a little jealous. Sniper admitted that he was too.

They talked a lot about it. Scout informed him a month or two into their odd friendship that Sniper was the only person on the base that he felt like he could really talk to. Pyro still unnerved him a little sometimes, and Medic knew but didn’t exactly know how to talk about things in a sensitive manner, and he wasn’t brave enough to try to bring it up with any of the other mercs. Sniper sympathized. When Scout finally found out that he would be put on hormones, he practically broke Sniper’s door down in his haste to come tell him, and Sniper declared that they would be celebrating.

The whiskey disappeared quick, and so did their fears and nerves, and that was the same night that Scout made a move on him.

It wasn’t something as drastic as a kiss. It was first and foremost Scout holding his hand, looking at him with a flushed face and contented smile. Then Sniper had smiled back, and Scout had lifted Sniper’s hand up to his own face and kissed at his knuckles, carefully, gingerly, as if half convinced that Sniper would snatch his hand away and whack Scout over the head for the infraction. But he didn’t.

The next morning, they had the uncomfortable conversation about what they were and what they would tell people. Sniper walked away satisfied and just a little bit giddy.

They took things slow—more specifically, _Scout_ took things slow, for Sniper’s sake. They mapped out what they each liked, first in terms of affection, then physical affection, then kissing, then in the bedroom. Scout was mind-blowingly patient with him, with the fact that for a long time Sniper wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable going any further than kissing and feeling at each other over their clothes.

They eventually made a leap, Sniper getting Scout off in Scout’s room, lights off and shades drawn so that there was only barely enough light to see and operate by. And once he’d managed that once and twice, once he was sure he wasn’t going to freak out the first time he got in bed with someone else in years—the very first time doing so dead sober and with someone he’d ever see again—it was only a short while of hesitation before he allowed Scout to do the same with him.

A year into their relationship—two months after finally telling a few members of the team, a week or two since the final teammate found out—he wasn’t nervous at all anymore. He was more comfortable with Scout than he’d maybe ever been with anyone else in his life. Because Scout understood—over empathy, over sympathy, he really truly just _understood_.

And it was nice. And it was scary. He wasn’t used to people understanding him. He wasn’t used to being able to pause to search for a specific word and having it supplied to him within a second or two. He wasn’t used to being able to start saying a thought or idea and having someone else say the other half to him with a nod, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

One of these days, Scout was going to pull him apart at the seams, and Sniper would let him. Wouldn’t even ask questions, probably. And maybe that wasn’t the same thing as love, maybe that was something else, but love was the only word Sniper could think of for it.

He ended up saying it first, which surprised both of them. But it just sort of slipped out, and once it did, he couldn’t seem to make himself regret it.

He’d found that he had this sort of _game_ he liked to play with Scout. Where he’d hook on one of his more standard straps and Scout would ride him, and Sniper would see how long he could make Scout do all the work, see who got desperate and broke first. Usually it was Scout, with the one he’d picked for that particular night especially, but depending on how things went, whether Scout did all of the lovely little things that secretly drove Sniper absolutely bonkers, sometimes he ended up breaking first.

And he was really starting to get there. Biting his lip with those big teeth of his until it was red and swollen to try and hold back his noises, most of them rising out of his chest anyways, and moving at such a speed up and down that his tags swung against his chest, and raking a hand up through his sweaty bangs to get them out of his face, eyes peeking open to look down at Sniper, and god, the sight of him. And he rolled his hips just right, and it put a very pleasant pressure against his crotch that got him to release a shuddery little breath, and Scout smirked, so satisfied, so pleased with himself.

God.

He slid an arm around Scout’s waist, bent one knee. Started rocking—not thrusting, not quite, but when it paired with the way Scout was moving it made his pitch rise and his gasping speed up, and gave Sniper some nice sensations as well to boot, almost nice enough to convince him for a moment—

It was hard to explain, but he didn’t ever really need to, not with Scout, and that punched him in the chest just as hard as it always did, and words trailed the exhale.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he groaned, and Scout made a shaky noise. And he looked up when he realized he’d said it out loud, and Scout was staring, wide-eyed now.

And then Scout was lunging forward, mashing their lips together and redoubling his pace, moving fast and desperate, and Sniper finally started participating in a real way, bucking hard to the rhythm Scout set.

When Scout was done—twice, he was fairly sure, he thought it was something like twice, but his head was on crooked all of a sudden—he allowed them both to rest for a moment, pulling back enough to pant, open-mouthed against Scout’s throat.

Scout had a hand resting on his chest, trying to feel for something. He didn’t know what, for a few seconds, then he realized it was just under his left shoulder, where his heartbeat was probably hammering, even through a thick binder.

“Do you really?” Scout asked, voice very small, very nervous.

“Yeah,” Sniper admitted quietly.

“Oh thank fucking god,” Scout exhaled, a sigh of relief, and it startled a laugh out of Sniper. “That would’ve been the meanest prank ever, man. Jesus. And I uh, I love you too. Like, duh.”

“Duh?” Sniper repeated, laughed a little.

“You heard me,” Scout said haughtily, confidence flooding back into place as he got his breath back. Sniper laughed some more, and Scout made a noise, shifting. “Fuck, s-stop doin’ that, too sensitive—“

“Then get off,” Sniper chided, rolled his eyes.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Then stop complaining,” Sniper said next, pinched him on the side. “Christ. Prick.”

“The prick you’re in _love_ with,” Scout sing-songed, pinching Sniper right back and grinning.

“You don’t get to tease me over saying I love you when you said it back,” Sniper deadpanned.

“Can and will.”

“Right, I take it back,” Sniper said, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring Scout completely.

“Aw, c’mon! I’m kidding!” Scout insisted, sitting up on his knees to disconnect then curling up to Sniper’s chest. “Babe. I’m kidding. I love you. C’mon.”

“You’re going to use that every time I’m angry with you starting now, aren’t you?” Sniper asked, a little annoyed with the way his heart fluttered at the words.

“Depends if it works,” Scout shrugged, and made a kissy-face at Sniper expectantly.

For about ten seconds, restraint. Then he sighed heavily and leaned in to close the gap, kissing Scout with an amount of force that declared he was _not_ kissing Scout because he asked him to, he was kissing Scout because _he_ wanted to, thank you very much.

The smirk on Scout’s face told him that he didn’t believe it for a second.


	17. Demo/Soldier, Eye Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Demo had never been mistaken on the fact that Soldier was uncomfortable with eye contact. It wasn’t hard to piece together, the fact that he wore his helmet so low even though he held his head so high. In the locker rooms, it was the last thing he took off and the first thing he put back on. And at first Demo thought it was just about the helmet itself, but then they’d been stationed in a colder climate that warranted warmer headwear and he’d traded the helmet for a big, fluffy hat, and pulled that down over his eyes as well.

For the first months of their dating, he’d done his best to respect that boundary. Every time he had to push Soldier’s helmet up to kiss him, he kept his eye firmly shut for every moment that any place above his cheekbone was exposed. When they’d first gotten intimate, instead of insisting Soldier take the helmet off so he could better read his expressions and body language, he made the other man swear up and down to tell him if anything was wrong, and constantly paused to check that he was comfortable before each and every step they took into the act, to the point that Soldier ended up getting frustrated with him and snapping at him to hurry it up before he took the reins himself.

Eventually they escalated to Soldier taking his helmet off but facing away from him. And then Demo got another idea, when they were having a conversation one night before bed.

“Is the problem more me seeing your face, or the eye contact?” Demo asked, in the midst of pulling on a pair of boxers. He wasn’t sure if they belonged to him or Soldier—they wore the same size and dressed similarly enough anyways, so it didn’t particularly matter.

Soldier considered the question, standing in the mirror and looking at the series of love bites that had been scattered over his shoulders. “Neither,” he seemed to decide. “Or… with most people, both. But not with you.”

That made Demo smile. “Yeah?”

“Affirmative.” Another pause. “The problem is feeling… vulnerable to attack. The eyes are among the most vulnerable part of the body. I prefer not to have them exposed.”

Demo nodded. He could absolutely understand that, maybe more than anyone else on the team. “So you’d be alright with me looking you in the eye, just not _straight_ in the eye?” he asked.

Soldier frowned. “What do you mean?”

Demo stood, moving over to demonstrate. He hooked an arm around Soldier’s waist, gathering him close and nuzzling into his neck for a second, making him smile a little sheepishly. Then he moved his free hand up to tilt his helmet back out of the way, making eye contact with Soldier’s reflection.

“This alright?” he asked, watching Soldier’s body language in his periphery for any sign of tension. He got none, only a vague shifting like surprise that slowly faded back away the longer their gazes held.

He didn’t answer for a few moments. Demo took a moment during the pause to tilt his head to press a kiss just behind Soldier’s ear, and was delighted to see the way Soldier’s eyes crinkled up at the edges as he smiled.

“This is good,” Soldier seemed to decide, voice firm. “I am enjoying this.”

“Happy to hear it, lad,” Demo said simply, and kissed him under the jaw. “How’s about some other time we try something else with this?”

“Why not now?” Soldier asked, and Demo was intrigued by the curve of his eyebrows, the squint of his eyes.

“Because you rode me like a bloody show pony through three rounds and if I try for one more bloody time tonight I think my soul’s as ready to leave my body as anything else,” he deadpanned.

It was nice to see the place where Soldier’s flush started to develop on his face, to watch it spreading up to his ears rather than just down to his collarbones. “Understood,” was all Soldier managed to say, finally breaking and averting his eyes, and Demo laughed.

They tried the “something new” a few days later, when Demo was sure they’d have plenty of time for each other, when he knew they wouldn’t be rushing or tired from a long day of work and chores and tinkering and exercise.

He told Soldier right out the gate that the night would be gentle overall, and they would be taking it slow and steady. Soldier nodded, and mimicked one of the things Demo would do when he was in one of his more romantic moods, picking up his hand and pressing a kiss into the center of his palm. Then he surprised Demo with something new, looking at his hand for a moment and starting to press kisses along the gradient where his skin darkened from palm to wrist, gently kissing a line there, and it made Demo’s face feel hot, his heart fluttering, pleasant and warming like a glimpse of the sunrise between the canyons rather than sharp and aching like a rushed defusal following a mistaken button press.

He spent a few moments rearranging the room, answering every one of Soldier’s questions with “be patient, love, it’s a surprise”. Soldier only seemed to start catching on when he was naked and situated on Demo’s lap, facing outward directly towards the mirror Demo had borrowed from its place hanging on the back of the door and set at the foot of the bed.

He couldn’t manage to keep eye contact through the entirety of Demo teasing him open with steady fingers, eyes flicking away, then head turning down and to one side, and finally burying his face in his hand, hunched forward even as his legs started trembling.

“You alright?” Demo asked cautiously when he finally noticed Soldier hiding, ready to cease all goings-on at a moment’s notice.

“I’m embarrassed,” Soldier said, tone flat even where it trembled.

Demo purred comforting words into the stubble on his neck, continuing to flow fingers against Soldier, more to soothe than prepare him, although he was nearly ready anyways. “Janey, I promise I won’t laugh at you,” he murmured, eye closed for a moment to give Soldier reprieve. “Won’t think less of you, neither. I love you, every part of you. And going off of that, I’m right sure I’ll love everything I’ll see here tonight. And whatever I see stays right here between us.”

That seemed to bring Soldier comfort and ease, because within a few moments the shoulder Demo was resting his chin on was relaxed, and the only tension remaining was in Soldier’s thighs, starting to tremble.

“We can try again some other time if you’d like,” he finally offered, just in case.

“I want to do this,” Soldier replied, decisive again.

Demo smiled, opened his eye to look at Soldier again. “Alright,” he said simply. “Then let’s.”

He found himself breathless as he finally pushed into Soldier a few moments later, both thanks to the pleasure and thanks to the novelty of seeing Soldier’s face. The way his eyebrows drew together and crooked, his eyelids faltering before finally dropping closed, his full expression on display rather than simply the way his lips parted with panting when Demo’s thighs were finally pressed flush with his own, oh, it was more than he could’ve ever hoped for, _wished_ for. His chest was full to the bursting.

Less sappy emotional nonsense followed after that initial moment, only occasionally hitting him with an aftershock.

He slowly rolled into a steady pace, and wound up nibbling and nipping at Soldier’s shoulders and back, having already been treated previously to all sorts of enthusiastic babble about how much Soldier enjoyed that particular activity. And soon enough Soldier was doing the majority of the work, a powerful core paired with thighs of steel combining to make him an absolute terror of a ride, driving Demo to some amount of desperation within the minute.

Suddenly resurfacing from the sea of pleasure Soldier had thrown him into and remembering the new thing they’d just added to their sex lives, Demo blinked his bleary eye open and shifted to try and catch a glimpse of Soldier’s expression in the mirror. And he found that Soldier had already been looking at him, and he’d always sort of imagined that when he was riding this hard Soldier would have the same look of determination on his face that he got somewhere around pull-up number eighty, but instead there was desperation there, clear and sharp, and a vulnerability that Demo hadn’t been aware of Soldier being ready for, and it hit like a punch to the jaw, his brain reeling.

Soldier reached a hand back, and it found the back of Demo’s neck, pulling him in, and he went along with the silent request and started back in on leaving marks across Soldier’s skin.

He’d thought that Jane would be the one who might get overwhelmed by this, but he was wrong. Just one glimpse of his face and Demo had nearly been undone.

He held himself together up until Soldier started making that little noise in the back of his throat on every exhale that meant he was close, and took over the pace for a moment to finish himself off, reaching around to fist at his cock even as he pounded in once, twice, three times, throbbing and spending himself, a second kind of relief washing through him when Soldier choked out a noise and came as well, spurting mostly onto his own stomach, the final jolt spilling mostly over Demo’s fist.

He had to pull out, and managed not to wince at the drip that followed, warm against his thigh. He nosed in at Soldier’s stubble again, peeking at his expression.

Gorgeous. He’d always suspected that it would be. And slightly goofy, he had to admit, but it read as endearing rather than ridiculous.

“Can we do that again?” Soldier asked, voice a little weak, and Demo chuckled, kissed him on the shoulder.

“In a few minutes maybe, doll,” he teased, and it got Soldier to exhale, pulling the hand now resting against his waist up within kissing range, and Demo didn’t stop him, even as he made a noise of protest at the way Soldier ended up carelessly ended up getting cum on his face.

He’d just need to clean it off later, he supposed.


	18. Engineer/Spy, Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for mention of Engineer's prosthesis)

The phone at his bedside rang, and Engie fished through the dark for it for about ten seconds before realizing the Gunslinger wasn’t even on him just then. He swore, turning onto his stomach and stretching out his other arm, picking up the phone before it could ring out and clearing his throat of sleep, managing a neutral “Hello?” that didn’t sound too terribly exhausted.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” was his reply, purred and decidedly not sleepy through the phone. “Or perhaps _bonsoir_ , for you?”

Engie tucked the phone into his shoulder to turn on the little lamp on his bedside table, squinting at the clock he had there. “Try good _night_ ,” he grumbled, using his freed hand to rub at his eye. “It’s past midnight, Spy, what on earth are you callin’ me this late for?”

“You would think after two weeks of absence, my lover would be more happy to hear from me,” Spy replied, perfectly dignified.

There was some truth to that. A mission—overseas, no less—had Spy scheduled to be away for three weeks, likely more. And his duties as an agent interrupting the schedule they’d found for each other wasn’t new, but such a long period of complete absence was unprecedented.

He was starting to wake up a bit more, and regretted snapping at him a little bit, but knew better than to admit it so easily. “Would’ve preferred a call a little earlier than now,” was what he said instead of apologizing.

A hum, and a pause. “So I woke you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know that you do occasionally sleep when I’m not there to drag you into bed,” Spy said, and that was close enough to the sort of doting Spy would sometimes do over him, especially over the phone. It made Engie smile. “In your own room as well?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” Spy said, and that made his eyebrows furrow, but he moved past it.

“Now, I know you can’t exactly tell me where you are,” he started, trailed for a moment. “But what time is is for you, then?”

“Just after sunrise. I’ve only just woken up as well,” Spy replied, and Engie heard him shifting. “And it isn’t that strange to wake up alone, but I must admit, I miss sharing. Quite a lot. I would much rather have woken up next to someone else this morning.”

“Not someone besides me, I hope,” Engie said, couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the possessiveness rising in his chest and burning hot at the idea of Spy running around with other people the moment he wasn’t within Engie’s line of sight.

“Of course not,” Spy answered easily enough, and even elaborated. “You in particular were missed so much that I decided to call, if that is not proof enough then I don’t know what is.”

Engie hummed. There was a pause.

“I do mean it,” Spy emphasized. “I miss you.”

It was so much more direct than Spy usually was that it took Engie aback for a second. “I miss you too,” he admitted, voice quiet.

A hum. “This has gotten much more saccharine than I had intended,” Spy finally said.

“Oh?”

“ _Oui_. And although I do miss you in the sense of your companionship being very important to me, I meant a different sort.”

“Oh?” he repeated, a little confused.

“Allow me to repeat myself,” Spy said, and when he spoke next, his voice had dipped considerably, gone breathier and brimming with intent. “Engineer, I _miss you_.”

His meaning became clear, and the Texan felt his face practically burst into flame with it, and suddenly he was sweltering underneath his heavy quilt.

“Go on,” he managed, sure that if he said much more his voice would wobble and he would make a fool of himself.

Spy hummed, and it sounded reminiscent of the way he stifled himself in the bedroom suddenly and it made the Engineer’s breath catch. “I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me, _mon cher_ ,” he said, not sounding very broken up about it. “It only took me a few days to start becoming rather desperate.”

The idea of Spy being desperate shook the Engineer to his core, sending a shiver through him. It was hard to imagine Spy being desperate for anything without the Engineer pushing him to that place with teasing words and touches.

“And I’m afraid I’ve also broken a promise of mine,” Spy continued. “Not a serious one, but I have a feeling you’re going to be irritated with me.”

“What did you do?” Engie asked, frowning, momentarily drawn from his thoughts.

“I took something of yours.”

The Engineer thought about that for about five seconds before realization dawned. “Oh, you little—that’s where my cologne went?” he asked, voice a little sharp.

“ _Oui_.”

“You—Spy, I spent _half an hour_ looking for it a few days ago!” he grouched, thoroughly annoyed.

“If it’s any consolation, your saying that does make me feel a bit bad about it.”

Engie sighed, hard. “Why on earth did you go do a fool thing like that?” he asked.

“Because I knew that after such a long period of having consistent company, being alone again would make me…” He paused. “Hm. I think ‘troubled’ is the word I might use, but it doesn’t have quite the correct connotation. I thought it might help, and it did for the first two weeks. But now, it’s… less effective. So I called you.”

“Less effective?” Engie repeated, brows furrowing.

Spy made a sound of agreement. “With previous lovers I would often simply steal a shirt or something similar, but you are far too particular about your laundry. I would never get away with it.”

His meaning became clear, and the Engineer felt his face growing hot. The idea of Spy stealing his cologne, packing it away in his bags and taking it back out when he was lonely in a hotel room—probably somewhere unbearably fancy, silk sheets on a king-sized mattress worth more than the Engineer’s truck…

He had to clear his throat, taking care to stay quiet about it. “But it’s not doin’ the job well enough now?” he prompted, letting his voice fall lower. “And you needed to call?”

Another sound of agreement. “If you’re willing to help, of course,” he added.

“Always willing to lend a hand,” he said, letting his pitch dip even further just to make sure Spy knew he understood, and Spy hummed happily.

“I do not know if I’ve ever told you before,” Spy started in, tone casual even as his voice fell to a purr. “But you really do have lovely hands, _mon cher_.”

“That right?” he asked, eyebrows rising, settling more comfortably on the bed.

“But of course. One rough and calloused, the other powerful and strong, they’re simply wonderful,” Spy continued, sighing a little. “That is the thing that occurs to me the most, is missing the feeling of your hands.”

“It’d just be the one, presently,” Engie admitted, casting a look towards the Gunslinger across the room. “Having just woken up and all.”

“Hm. In your pajamas then, presumably?” Spy asked.

“Yep. Sweatpants is all,” Engie said, shrugged despite the fact that Spy couldn’t see him. “Not as classy as the… silk set with, gold buttons or some nonsense that you probably wear—“

“I own no such thing,” Spy replied, a little haughty, a little teasing. “In fact, I’m not in _any_ sleepwear presently.”

“Dressed for the day?”

“ _Non, mon cher,_ ” Spy purred, chuckling a little. “I’m not wearing much of anything at all.”

His breath caught in his chest.

“Besides it being warm here, I had been considering taking a shower before starting my day, and the idea of calling you rather than simply trying to take care of my loneliness problem on my own in the shower, well, clearly one appealed to me more than the other,” Spy said, tone lilting and casual and so very teasing.

“Just gettin’ off to the sound of my voice, you filthy Spook?” Engie asked, voice level.

“Unless someone is saying I can’t,” Spy shot back, still lighthearted.

“Sayin’ no such thing,” Engie responded. “Just think it’s cute is all, that all it takes is a week or so alone and you’re sittin’ around huffing some other man’s cologne and calling him just to get off a little easier. Make sense, whore like you.”

A shuddery breath, crinkled through the phone lines. “Don’t tell me you’re entirely unaffected,” he tried to tease, tried to cover it up.

Admittedly, he was getting harder with each passing moment. Soon enough it would start being uncomfortable. Already the heavy blanket was. He pushed it down his torso a little ways to cool down a bit, to stay in control. “Not unaffected, but not damn desperate,” he said. “Not like you, probably three fingers deep already.”

A scoff, marred by breathlessness as it was. “Don’t be ridiculous, how could I be holding the phone with both hands occupied?”

“Tucked up on your shoulder,” Engie said simply.

“Well, it’s not,” Spy said firmly.

“And not stuffed full of one of those fancy toys of yours?” he asked next.

Silence for several seconds longer than the delay, and it made the Engineer chuckle.

“Surprised I can’t hear the buzz,” he said next, and tried his best to quietly ease the blanket further down his body without jostling the phone. “I can hear traffic from your end, but no buzz.”

“I hadn’t turned it on, didn’t want to assume…” Spy trailed, and there was that lost quality to his voice, that aimlessness he got when he was melting under the Engineer’s hands.

“Turn it on, doll,” he directed, voice dark, and he heard two shaky breaths between when Spy clearly heard the order and when he heard the hum starting up, followed by an almost surprised moan, and very soon after, panting. “There you go. Feels good, sweetheart?”

“ _Oui_. Very. Very much,” Spy replied. Another noise, this one hushed, then he spoke again, much more desperate this time. “You really aren’t affected at all?”

“I am a bit,” Engie admitted, finally giving in to desire and tucking the phone into the crook of his shoulder gently, slipping his hand beneath the covers. “You had a head start though, it sounds like.”

“I did,” Soy confirmed, choked down another noise alongside the next words. “It’s just that… I don’t often have, those sorts of pleasant dreams anymore, not when I’m, in relationships. Passionate relationships. But that made this one much more… potent.”

“What happened in it?” Engie prompted, idly surprised by how quickly Spy’s panting and moaning and trying to get words out despite it was turning him on.

“You,” Spy managed, words tight. “Sucking me off. We were in a hotel, I think, I-I can’t remember why. I just remembered the bed being large enough to spread out in, and… and you pinning me down right in the middle. And oh, your mouth. I woke up so very wanting to my alarm clock. I nearly broke it I was so… infuriated.”

He had to search for the word for a moment, clearly having trouble focusing. In the brief pause after he finished talking, Engie felt his heart rate picking up at the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Familiar, but new through the crackle of a receiver.

“I want you,” Spy finally gasped, needy and gorgeous. “God, Engineer, I _want_ you. Anything.”

“Maybe you should go on trips more often if it makes you moan this pretty for me,” Engie murmured, voice low, and it got Spy to gasp again, sounds redoubling. “You sound wonderful, darlin’, all hot and desperate. You sound close, too. Gonna come for me?”

Gasped confirmation, followed shortly by begging, hard and desperate between two—or was that three?—languages, breath running short.

“I want you to,” Engie demanded. “I wanna hear you. Go on, come for me.”

It sounded like a long, intense thing. It drove the Engineer a little crazy, being able to hear but not see or touch, not kiss or bite. He made up for it by murmuring praise, pausing his hand against himself exactly long enough to instead readjust the phone on his shoulder, kicking the blanket off of him and finally pulling his sweatpants properly down to free himself.

Then it was over, and Spy hummed languid and content into the phone, some amount of shifting translating into a short phrase of static. A brief pause. “Mmm. Are you close, _mon beau?”_ Spy murmured.

“Nearly,” Engie admitted. “The sound of you fallin’ apart is…”

A chuckle. “I imagine it must be a pain getting off one-handed,” he said, voice flowing sweet, soothing over his desperation. “If only I were there, oh, the things I would _do_ to you, my dear.”

“More likely I’d do… some things to _you_ , darlin’,” Engie growled, halfway to a threat, and Spy just chuckled again.

“Oh, _promise_ ,” he urged, and that drew a tremble to the Engineer’s thighs for a moment, head lolling back. “When I get back, assuming you don’t do so first, I’m going to _ravage_ you. And there will be time for making love of course, but I think for the first two rounds or so, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold myself back. Not until I have you down my throat.”

His hips juttered, and he gasped out a swear as he came, managing to keep the mess reserved mostly just to his hand. Spy crooned sweet nothings into his ear as it rolled through him, mainly in some language he didn’t understand, but the meaning was crystal clear. When he was finally done, he felt twice as exhausted as he had in the moments before he’d picked up the phone, and significantly more breathless and sweaty.

“Made a damn mess of me,” Engie panted.

“I’m not apologizing,” Spy purred, so very self-satisfied.

“Will you apologize for the cologne?” he asked.

“If you insist,” Spy sighed, as if under great duress. “I’m sorry. I will not do it again. Probably. At least until my next trip.”

“I’ll give you a shirt for your next trip, just stop stealin’ things that I need,” Engie griped, reaching and managing to find the sleeve of his undershirt, hanging from his laundry basket. He used it to wipe off what mess he’d made, catching his breath and starting to feel a little silly with his sweatpants around his thighs.

“It would be appreciated.” Quiet for a few moments. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Not a big ask,” he admitted.

“Thank you regardless. I… did miss you. Quite a lot. And I still miss you.”

“Well,” Engie shrugged, a little awkward with he genuine show of emotion, pulling himself back into order, even as he left the blankets down for a minute to cool off. “I’ll be seeing you soon enough regardless.”

“You will,” Spy confirmed. Another pause.

“Go get your damn shower already, you snake,” Engie chided, smiling a little bit at Spy’s hesitance.

“I’m between a rock and a hard place, _mon cher_ ,” Spy complained. “On one hand, hanging up the phone. On the other hand, remaining here a mess and keeping you from sleep. On one hand, a nice pleasant shower. On the other, you. Do you understand my predicament?”

“I understand that you need a shower and I need sleep,” Engie said pointedly. “And I’ll be seeing you soon enough anyways.”

“Fine,” Spy sighed. “ _Bonne nuit_ , Engineer.”

“Have a good day, Spy. Stay safe,” Engie replied, and hung up the phone, feeling satisfied on multiple levels.

Damn spies.


	19. Sniper/Scout, Stockings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for severe self-consciousness and minor injury during)

Scout _knew_ he had good legs, alright? He already knew that. They were on the same page about Scout’s absolutely killer legs. Fuckin’ fantastic. What he _didn’t_ get was why Sniper felt the need to add something else to the mix there. Why mess with perfection? It was a little insulting.

The only reason he was even _considering_ this was the fact that Sniper had, first of all, asked very nicely. Gone to the effort of buttering him up over it and everything. Brought it up when they were out to eat—not anywhere too fancy, because they didn’t like too fancy and there wasn’t anywhere like that nearby anyways—and been real sweet about it. And second of all, Sniper had mentioned in passing, not naming any dates in particular, that it was his birthday fairly soon. And third…

Well.

He was sat on his bed, looking over the dumb things, late at night when he was pretty sure nobody else was gonna come by and try and bother him. And man. They were like, high quality. And it wasn’t like Scout would actually know or anything, he didn’t have a ton of experience with that sort of stuff, but they looked like they must’ve been expensive.

He rubbed the material of the stockings between his finger and thumb, amazed at the smoothness of it. He remembered being a kid and fucking around with all the coats and hats and stuff they had lined up next to their door in the winter, and really hating how itchy the lace on his mom’s scarf was, even just against his fingers, but these were soft. _Really_ soft. Soft and smooth and…

Sniper wasn’t really the type to blow through money on stuff. Even out of the food he bought to stock his camper, the only name brand stuff he had was the soda he kept for Scout and this one specific brand of beer. He was always wicked careful with money, so careful, and that he clearly spent a _real_ pretty penny on this one thing that he wanted Scout to just wear once to try it out and that Scout might’ve said no to…

Scout looked down at his legs, bared by the shorts he’d put on to sleep. And in his own head he’d managed to land on indignance that Sniper apparently didn’t think they were good enough on their own, their being damn great and all, but… these were too nice for him. The muscle definition he had going on was straight up insane. But his legs were pretty hairy, overall.

Scout’s facial hair grew so slowly it might as well not be growing at all, it taking a solid month for him to even get proper stubble through how light his hair was, but he owned a razor anyways. He went and grabbed it, and headed to go take a late night shower.

An hour later, back in his room, he was stood looking in his mirror, legs now very nice and smooth (except for one or two places around his knees where he’d knicked himself a bit but no big deal), in a pair of briefs and holding up the stockings in front of himself trying to visualize how they would look.

Okay. So they were fuckin’ _nice_. They were gonna look _great_. He was pretty sure the second Sniper walked in and saw Scout sitting around in these, he was either going to cream himself on the goddamn spot or do that real nice thing where he pinned Scout down and growled all kinds of filth into his ear until _Scout_ creamed himself on the goddamn spot. They were gonna look fuckin’ _good_.

But the briefs were fucking up his look. Like, they fit good and everything, but standard navy briefs with really expensive stockings? He was putting three thousand dollar rims on a hatchback, here.

He walked over to his dresser, started digging through.

And, okay, the panties weren’t _his_ , first of all, he didn’t buy them or anything. They were from back when he was super into the dating scene, when they were stationed near enough to a bigger town so that it was an option. And he felt a little bad that he didn’t even remember the girl’s name that they belonged to, but it wasn’t like he’d _stolen_ them or anything, she’d just left it behind and he figured, hey, why the hell not. It wasn’t like the shitty motel needed them, probably had a stack of the things in the back room or whatever. And maybe he’d see her again and be able to give them back. (He absolutely hadn’t.)

But they were black like the stockings, and the girl had been like, about his size—maybe a bit bigger actually, at least roundwise, because when it came to girls maybe he had a little bit of a type—and he was pretty sure they’d fit him, just seeing them next to his briefs in the drawer.

He pulled them on, and the stockings as well for good measure, and went to stand in front of the mirror.

They actually fit pretty good. He had to kind of mess with how his dick was sat, and where the waist of it was supposed to be, but once he got everything situated, they fit good. And they weren’t quite as bombshell fancy as the stockings, but still damn nice.

His gaze drifted up, landed on his dog tags. The clasp was kinda twisted around towards the front, and he fixed it. His hair was kinda wet and messy from the shower he’d just taken, and he brushed it into better order with one hand, smoothing down the places where it tried to be weird, mussing it a little.

And, okay. He wasn’t a short guy or anything, he was pretty average, maybe an inch or two on some guys, even a little taller-looking just because he had good posture. But Sniper was like, six foot three, and his boots gave him almost another inch. It was ridiculous.

And some part of Scout figured, hey, dressed all nice, looking _really_ good, it would be nice to be tall too.

The heels were from a Halloween costume a few years back, when he’d done a fun bit and spent the few weeks before the part going on about how his costume was gonna be from Bonnie and Clyde, and everyone ragging on him that he would never be able to pull off Clyde for a laundry list of reasons, and then when the actual day came he showed up as Bonnie. It was hilarious—at least to a few of the team. Spy and Medic thought it was really dumb. But a few of the mercs and Miss Pauling had all laughed, so it was totally worth it.

And he still had the heels. He’d lost most of the rest of the costume—he was pretty sure he still had the sweater?—but he definitely still had the heels. They’d been expensive and simple enough that he figured he could reuse them some other year for a different costume.

They’d blistered like a bitch when he’d tried to break them in before the party, but he’d messed with them enough that he wouldn’t literally die when he had to wear them all night for the party itself, and now they were comfortable, and made him a solid few inches taller.

Made his legs look even nicer, too. And when he stepped over to the mirror again after putting them on, they made a real nice click against the floor. Hm. Damn, dude. He gave himself a spin, a twist back and forth, and damn. Damn.

He looked fuckin’ _good_.

Okay. So Sniper was absolutely right. The stockings were a great idea. He was aware that he was already pretty hot shit, but seriously. If he saw a person this attractive in public, he wouldn’t even be able to talk to them. Like, legally. He’d walk up and be like “hey what’s up” and then they’d probably have like a bodyguard or something who would step forward all “no autographs” and like, call him buddy but in the way that meant he was about to get his neck snapped. That hot.

He’d never really thought of the word “prettyboy” as an actual insult, it was only really an insult for guys too macho to appreciate a different kind of aesthetic, but he’d never really gotten any kind of feeling in particular about it being stuck to him. But now? _Boy_ was he pretty. And he was kind of super into it. Confidence boost, like the one time every billion years when he actually got Uber’d because Medic was popping it anyways because he was about to die and trying to retreat and hey, might as well buff Scout since he was literally the only other person in a hundred foot radius.

He was totally gonna fuck up Sniper’s whole week with this. He was gonna _break_ Sniper with how good he looked. Dude was gonna have a heart attack and drop dead. Holy shit.

The next day he went over to visit Sniper before breakfast and all but demanded that Sniper make time for him that evening. And all through battle he was at the top of his game, moving like a maniac and wreaking absolute havoc on the field. He got a clap on the back from Engie on the way off the field, a friendly bump on the shoulder from Demo, and at Soldier’s usual daily “be better at your job” lecture to each individual teammate, Scout found his laden with pauses as Soldier tried to think of anything he did that was even a little less than top notch.

He felt good. He felt _real_ good. And when he got back to his room after showers and pulled on the outfit, sweatpants and a t-shirt over top, heels packed into his bag with a few more essentials for sleeping over (because he felt good enough that he had a feeling there would be a couple rounds over the course of the evening, and he didn’t wanna trudge back to base after all that), he still felt good, felt incredible even. Sniper wasn’t even gonna know what hit him.

He got to the camper, kissed Sniper in greeting, and Sniper was in high spirits as well, maybe picking up on Scout’s good mood. He allowed himself a long feel up the back of Scout’s shirt, and Scout grinned at it, glancing Sniper up and down.

“Hey,” he started in, pausing where he’d idly been working at Sniper’s buttons, the top few popped open. “Remember that thing you asked? When we went out to eat?”

Sniper’s eyebrow rose. “The outfit?”

Scout nodded, grinning all the wider. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinkin’ about it,” he said, head tilting a little to one side, “and I figured I’d try it on, see how I’d look and all. And I liked it, so…”

Sniper’s gaze was intense.

“So, I put it on,” Scout said.

Sniper’s hand shifted to hold onto Scout’s thigh, pulling Scout in and against himself as he did so. “Is that right?” he asked, other eyebrow rising to match the first.

“Yeah.” He pushed on Sniper’s chest. “But you gotta get outta here for a second so I can show you. I wanna do this right.”

Sniper shrugged, disconnecting from Scout, doing the buttons of his shirt back up in a few efficient movements. “Would a few minutes work?” he asked, picking his hat up and putting it on.

“Yeah. Like, five minutes,” Scout agreed.

“Awright. I’ll knock before I come back in,” he said, and stepped outside, closing the door behind him with a parting wink.

Scout closed the blinds and stripped quickly, kicking off his shoes and putting the heels on instead. He fixed his tags in the mirror, combing his hand through his hair a few times fretfully.

Okay. He looked good. He knew he looked good. He looked great. Really hot. And he totally had this.

A glance at the little clock next to Sniper’s bed. Two minutes had passed.

Okay, so he was a little nervous actually. Sniper didn’t have a full length mirror, so he just sorta had to lean on the table to pull the stockings up to just the right place on his legs, had to twist to get a good look at himself, had to hope nothing was crooked because it was kind of hard to tell. And then he couldn’t figure out where he wanted to be when Sniper came back in—standing? Sitting on the table? On the bed?

A glance at the clock. Three minutes.

He leaned on the table, feeing a little tense. Okay. So _he_ thought he looked good. But suddenly Scout couldn’t help but wonder if _Sniper_ was going to think he looked good. Was all of what he was doing… too much? He’d only asked for the stockings, and here Scout was, heels and stuff, and maybe Sniper would just take one step in the door and laugh. And maybe Sniper wasn’t even actually sure he liked stockings, and just wanted to try something new. And now Scout was trying way too hard, and was going to seem ridiculous—

Four minutes.

He hadn’t planned for this. His sleep clothes were just a pair of boxers and the shirt he’d worn over in the first place, he didn’t have something less dumb to change into, especially not considering the track record they had with clothes getting dirty, and even if he took all the stuff off Sniper would probably want to do _something_ to make sure he didn’t waste his evening, and… and there wasn’t time to change now anyways. He laid down on the bed, hand over his face, trying desperately to feel less stupid, to put on a game face for when Sniper came in, to not look like a complete and utter wreck.

He was such an idiot.

A knock at the door. He managed something like a “come in”, and forced his gaze to stay facing the ceiling when he heard it open, even as he managed to pull his hand down, folding his arms behind his head.

Silence. The door closing, firmly, and locking. “Holy dooley,” Sniper practically gasped, and Scout swallowed hard, couldn’t help but glance over. Sniper’s jaw was hanging, hat in his hand at his side.

He wanted a little bit to curl up and hide. He didn’t, just looking at Sniper.

“Stand,” Sniper tried, but his throat was dry, and he needed to clear it before he tried to speak again. “Stand up.”

Scout felt a tremor in his hands as he followed the instruction, absolutely on fire. Sniper stepped forward to meet him after a few seconds, holding him out at arm’s length, gaze catching on all sorts of things as he looked down, down.

When he finally looked up to meet Scout’s eyes, it was with a grin. “Felt like being tall, aye?” he asked, teasing.

“Maybe,” Scout said, a little defensive.

“Gorgeous little thing,” Sniper murmured, threading fingers through his hair against his scalp and pushing Scout’s head down anyways so Sniper could press a kiss to his temple, his chuckle reverberating through Scout’s chest. “Feels almost like I ought to be paying you. You look too nice to be standin’ around in a cramped little place like this on purpose.”

“You can pay me by not makin’ fun and not tellin’ anybody I wore this,” Scout murmured right back, leaning in to bury his face in Sniper’s neck.

“Darl, don’t tell me you’re _embarrassed_ ,” Sniper asked, a smile on his voice.

“I’m _annoyed_ ,” Scout corrected, even thought he wasn’t. “You’re lucky it’s almost your birthday.”

“I really am,” Sniper agreed, hand down on Scout’s thigh, toying with one of the tiny little bows, much further within his reach with the heels. “Mind if I lay you out and get a good look at you?”

“Fine,” Scout said, halfway to a sigh, and sat down on the bed. Before he could turn and lay down, Sniper was pushing his legs apart with a hand on either knee and kneeling between them.

He picked up one of Scout’s legs and lifted it to place it over his shoulder, turning his head to nose at the intricate patterns of the lace. He hummed, satisfied and pleased, eyes falling closed as he placed kisses scattered randomly across the expanse he had available to him.

Another chuckle, muffled into skin and thin fabric. “Oh, darl, I’m not making it ten minutes before I fall apart on you if you’re in this,” he admitted, flashing a half-apologetic half-hungry look up at Scout.

He felt his breath catch. A few seconds to collect himself enough to respond. “Well, as long as you’re good for more than one round,” he teased, only slightly wavering.

Sniper didn’t give a verbal reply to that, just starting in on a mark up above where the lace ended on Scout’s thigh, thumb drawing circles against fabric with one hand as the other set to work patiently starting to pull off his own clothes

He riled Scout up past the point of forgetting how embarrassing his outfit was and right up into desperate, into trying to touch himself and Sniper leaning up to pin his arms down, grinding slow rolls against Scout’s ass, boxers dulling the feeling down to just the push and _pressure_ of it, until he was outright begging for Sniper to get on with it. Sniper yanked the panties down and off of him and sucked him off slow and patient, indulging Scout in two fingers only when he begged for them, and he hadn’t had eyes on the clock or anything, but he spent himself down Sniper’s throat in something like five minutes flat.

Sniper made a sound of discomfort when he finally sat up, rolling his shoulders. Scout got up on his elbows, fixing him with a look of confusion somewhere under the contentment, watching him trying to reach a hand to his own back, wincing hard.

“You okay?” Scout asked, starting to frown, sitting up fully with the help of shaky arms.

“Think the bloody heels got me,” Sniper grunted.

Scout caught sight of his back and his eyes widened. “Jesus,” he said, “turn around real quick?”

Sniper did, and Scout’s eyebrows shot up.

There were a series of marks along Sniper’s back, some of them scratches, mostly just sharp lines. It looked like Sniper had whacked himself on a table corner by accident, except a good five or six times and only along his back. Scout felt his face flush. He knew once in the past Sniper had complained about Scout having knocked him on the back pretty hard, but he hadn’t really considered the heels being a problem.

“Oh god,” Scout managed, leaning forward, brushing a thumb along one of the worse ones and being a little alarmed at the fact that it was bleeding. “Uh. You’ve got a first aid kit in here, right?”

_“Scout,”_ Sniper said sternly.

“I—I’m gonna be honest, I knew this outfit was probably really gonna fuck with you, but I, I didn’t think it’d… this isn’t what I thought,” Scout managed, face burning hot.

“You fuckin’ drongo,” Sniper growled, swatting at him loosely and moving to dig through one of the cabinets.

“Sorry,” Scout tried, and meant it.

“Just—right, put a sheet on, lord knows I won’t be able to take care of this if I’m looking at you in that,” Sniper directed, giving him a sidelong glance and up-and-down to illustrate, and Scout did so without protest, dragging the sheet from the bed up around himself loosely, covering up to about his ribcage. “Care to help, darl?”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed. “And—and I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at him, hands pausing for a minute.

“Like—“ Scout fished through his mind for something he could offer to make up for the mood being abruptly ruined. “Like, I’ll buy the next pair of these.”

“A whole set, maybe?” Sniper asked, joking now, eyes front.

“Sure.”

That seemed to take him by surprise, and he groaned, finally fishing out a first aid kit and standing up. “Cripes, mate, don’t get me thinking about it,” he warned, handing it over and sitting between Scout’s legs, turned away from him. “Need to clean these up before anything else.”

“Sure,” Scout repeated, and pulled a sanitizing wipe from its package. “Alright. This is gonna sting.”


	20. Sniper/Scout, Obliviousness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Scout’s pickup lines generally consisted of walking up to someone attractive, looking around to make sure they were alone enough to not be overheard, and asking them if they either wanted to go out or wanted to have sex depending on his mood.

So Sniper was pretty sure that wooing Scout wasn’t exactly necessary, but Sniper also generally tried to hold himself to a standard regardless of “necessity”. So he decided to go about it the right way anyways.

One day when he was hanging out in the base for once, Scout ducked into the common room and asked if anyone wanted to go with him to get something “real” to eat. Sniper volunteered. That started a weekly routine of them going off-base every Saturday to get tacos together at the nearest place that sold them, half an hour away.

For Scout’s birthday, Sniper got him a present—a record player, so he wouldn’t constantly need to argue with Heavy and Demo about whose turn it was to play music in the common room. One week, Scout got the flu, and Medic basically quarantined him off so he wouldn’t spread it to the rest of the team. Sniper spent an afternoon digging up the recipe for soup that he had from back home, making enough that Scout wouldn’t need to cook anything for himself for the next week or so until he was allowed at team dinners again, bringing the first serving of it to him and hanging out with the kid even though he knew he might get sick, and on Saturday he specifically called in a favor with Pyro and had them cook tacos so he could bring them by. The team went out drinking one weekend, and he and Scout sat together practically the whole night. When most of the team decided to finally head out, Sniper waved them off and offered to drive himself and Scout back later, promising not to drink too much. Scout expressed an interest in getting up and dancing when one of his favorite songs came up on the radio, and somehow Sniper roped himself into dancing with Scout for long enough that the next morning his legs were sore.

Scout didn’t seem to think anything of it. He stepped up his game.

He asked Scout if he wanted to go out and get coffee at some point. Scout told him he didn’t like coffee, it messed with his stomach, and that energy drinks were totally where it’s at. He asked if Scout wanted to get dinner. Scout agreed that wow it really had gotten late, it was dinner time already, they better hurry up before the rest of the team inhaled the meal.

He asked if Scout wanted to go on a date.

Scout said, man, like you wouldn’t believe! But lately whenever he hit on people they didn’t seem to ever catch on. He asked Sniper if he knew what that was like.

Sniper said, yes. He knew that feeling intimately.

He got tired of it. It had been nearly five months of subtle hints, gentle pushes, pointed questions. A whole five months of light flirting, compliments, Sniper paying for their food and Sniper carving out all of his free time and Sniper constantly, constantly setting himself up and never finding any payoff for it. It was the worst kind of edging.

And yes, he very much wanted to just hop into bed with Scout. But he also very much wanted to date Scout, it would seem. Yes he wanted to situate his body between Scout‘s heavily muscled thighs and drive him absolutely insane. But also he wanted to kiss Scout hello in the morning.

He’d gotten sappy. God damn it. Now it would hurt a lot worse if Scout rejected him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to even be scared of that, because he’d been on an almost seven month dry spell by then, not wanting to be so much of an asshole to go for several people at once without their knowledge, so he was mostly just concerned with getting a yes or no answer so he could move forward in one direction or another.

It was Valentine’s Day. It was after work. He showered, unpacked his nice suit that he sometimes used when he had to go out on contract, bought a bouquet, and marched himself directly through the base to Scout’s room and hammered his fist on the door.

Scout opened the door.

“Do you, Scout,” Sniper asked, “want to go out on a date, romantically, with me, Sniper, tonight on this Valentine’s Day? Please?”

Silence for two seconds. “Oh, fuck. That was flirting, wasn’t it?” Scout asked, apparently coming to a series of realizations.

“Yes. It was. For about five months for what it’s worth.”

“Since we started Taco Days?” Scout asked, eyes widening.

“Since a bit before, yes.”

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Sniper felt his heart sink, some of the determination seeping out of his shoulders. “Is that a no?” he asked, a bit less firmly now.

“No, yes, I—no it’s not a no, yes I wanna date you,” Scout clarified quickly. “Uh. Fuck. Shit. Where?”

“Anywhere,” Sniper shrugged. “But the taco place is open. They have a special for couples tonight.”

“You wanna be couples?” Scout asked, a little surprised.

“Ideally.”

Scout thought about it for a second. “I mean, yeah, sure! Okay! Or, I dunno, first date and then if it goes well—shit, Taco Day has been a date hasn’t it? Uh. First romantic date—not that it’s not romantic—“

“Look, it’s already almost six and they’re closing at ten,” Sniper cut in.

“Yeah, I’ll get changed,” Scout agreed quickly, moving to shut the door before catching himself and taking the flowers first, clearly shocked by the entirety of the proceedings. “Fuck. I’m real fuckin’ stupid, huh Snipes?”

“You’re lucky it’s cute,” Sniper deadpanned. “Meet me outside in twenty?”

“Thirty, I gotta shower,” Scout replied, dragging a hand up through his hair self-consciously. “But yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded.

-

The date went fine. The drive over was weirdly quiet, and Scout fidgeted with the radio a lot more, drummed his fingers against his own leg, the same way he sometimes did before confessing that something was bothering him—nerves about the new niece he had on the way, or annoyance about some bullshit that one of the team had said to him, or guilt about some prank gone awry that he hadn’t confessed to. But he didn’t speak, just fiddling, drumming.

Then tacos were basically business as usual. Scout made a joke about what dummies they were, eating tacos in suits, how they were for sure gonna end up with sauce on their nice white shirts, and Sniper laughed, and they didn’t.

Halfway through, Scout started asking questions.

“So dudes, huh? That why you’d never say anything when I started goin’ off about some girl?”

“And jealously, but yeah, that too,” Sniper admitted. He was glad he’d elected to keep his shades on. They helped hide the fact that he was bad at eye contact at the best of times.

“I kinda thought it was because you had a girlfriend or a wife off somewhere that you never wanted to talk about, like how Spy’s a prick about that stuff. I mean, you don’t, right? Have a girl somewhere?”

“No. And not a bloke either, for what it’s worth,” Sniper replied.

“Okay. Cool. Good.” Scout fidgeted with a napkin, took a drink of water. “I mean, didn’t think you’re the type for that anyways, but… yeah.”

Sniper took a drink of his own water. Silence for a moment.

“And you kinda wanna just—you wanna do boyfriend stuff? With me?” Scout asked, confused, as if some part of the proceedings didn’t make sense to him.

“Feels a bit like I already do,” Sniper pointed out.

“I mean, not _all_ the boyfriend stuff,” Scout mumbled, eyes back on his napkin. “I dunno. Maybe it’ll be nice though.”

“What sorts of “boyfriend stuff” have I missed so far that you’d like to see more of?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like, talkin’ about yourself more. You’re like, practically my therapist.”

“The complaining to me, you mean?”

“Yeah. And you barely ever complain back. Unless you’re agreeing with me that Spy’s a prick.” Scout looked up, baby blues trying to meet his eyes through his glasses. “I wanna hear more about you.”

Sniper couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Alright. I can try. Besides that?”

Scout looked away, face going a bit red as the silence progressed. He glanced around their vicinity for a second, barely managing to meet Sniper’s gaze before he had to break it again. “C’mon man, you’re gonna make me say it?” he said quietly.

“Five months.”

“Fine, sheesh, I…” He ducked his head a little. “Maybe… kissing and all that crap.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at him. Scout scowled when he glanced up and saw it.

“Look, I ain’t ever done this with a guy before, alright?” he said defensively, and he’d sunk pretty far by then down into his seat. “I dunno what the hell I’m doin’.”

“We can take it slow if you want,” Sniper suggested, feeling a little bad.

“I didn’t say _that_ , I’m just tellin’ you I’m gonna be a total idiot,” Scout muttered.

“Oh? What all would you like to jump right into then?”

“I’m not sayin’ it in public, that’s all I’m gonna tell you,” Scout said stubbornly, and Sniper laughed, and allowed him to change the subject to something else.

Scout paid the tab, saying it was his turn anyways, As usual, Sniper drove them to the taco place and Scout was the one to drive them back. Conversation was limited, both of them relaxed and satisfied.

Scout surprised him by pulling off the route they took back to instead park them at one of those roadside tourist-y areas where people could stop and stretch their legs on road trips and take photos and read a plaque. It was empty, of course it was, and the second Scout had the car in park and the keys out of it, dropped onto the dashboard, he promptly jumped the gearshift and landed himself in Sniper’s lap.

“Okay,” Scout opened with. “So here’s the thing.”

“Right?” Sniper replied hesitantly, hands on Scout’s waist, glancing him up and down.

“So like, me about guys, that’s usually secondary to the girls thing. Because girls are great. Usually it’s only really hot guys who I’d go for. And I guess I kinda more thought about you as a coworker mostly for a long time, right? Because you were. But then, I dunno, at some point I guess it clicked a little, right? That you’re hot.”

Sniper grinned. “Yeah? What is it, which part?” he asked.

“Stubble’s a big one,” Scout admitted. “And you know how to handle your gun crazy well, and can totally fuck a guy up with your knife. It’s real hot. And you’ve got these shoulders, and like… a lot of things basically,” Scout concluded, hands finding the shoulders in question. “And just, man. You look fuckin’ _good_ in a suit. And I just wanna… I don’t even _know_ what. I wanna do _somethin’_ to you.”

“Kissing’ as good start,” Sniper suggested, and Scout needed no further prompting, leaning in and spending exactly five seconds kissing Sniper like a good Christian boy before he promptly got filthy with it, pulling tricks with his tongue that made Sniper groan.

He broke away again, breathless. “Hate to take this off since you like it so much,” he admitted, tugging at his own tie pointedly.

“Well I fuckin’ _know_ I wanna do _that_ to you,” Scout said, and started working Sniper’s suit jacket off of him.

Scout mostly moved to toss the components of Sniper’s suit into the back seat carelessly, stripping him to his undershirt before he helped Sniper get off his own dress shirt. He managed to get his own pants undone before he apparently got impatient, nipping at Sniper’s freshly exposed collarbones with those rabbitish teeth of his, making Sniper’s hands fumble where he was at work on his own belt.

“Have an idea enough about how this works to know how you’d like to do this?” Sniper asked, a rumble into his ear that made Scout shiver.

“I dunno, just touch my dick, _fuck_ ,” Scout said impatiently, and got back to work marking up Sniper’s neck like he was getting paid, starting to grind down into him. Sniper was distantly aware of the fact that the windows were starting to fog.

The fact that he suddenly realized he didn’t actually have any lube or condoms on him, having assumed they’d get back at least to base before they started making out like horny teenagers, meant that their options were limited, but Sniper wasn’t that worried about it. He just got to work trying to worm Scout’s pants down his thighs, working with the rhythm of rolls that he’d established. He got a bit impatient, grabbing around the back of Scout’s thighs with both hands to lift him up enough to work his own pants down past his knees before letting him back down again, a moan startled out of him as Scout promptly grinded against him, making a similar noise.

“Hold on,” Sniper grunted, stopping Scout with a hand on his hip, raising the other to his own face to spit in it once, twice, before lowering it to slick both Scout and himself, and then he was wrapping a hand around them both as best he could and starting to jerk.

Scout’s reaction was immediate, starting to roll his hips into the wet, slick grip, eyelashes fluttering and mouth falling open around gasps, the first silent and every one after that satisfied.

“C’mon,” Sniper prompted, nosing in just below his chin and kissing his throat briefly. “Help me out with this. Get your hand wet—yeah, there you go—now c’mon, right here. Good. _God_ , yeah, like that. There’s a beauty.”

Scout used his free hand to wrap around Sniper’s shoulder to pull him close, mashing their lips together gracelessly but enthusiastically. Sniper’s free hand moved at first to grip at Scout’s ass, satisfied at the fact that he could now do so, then eventually to toy with Scout’s chest, pinching at one nipple and then the other, wringing all sorts of noises from Scout’s mouth and into his own and enjoying every second of it.

He felt Scout getting close quicker than he did, and tried to make up for the distance by starting to also roll his hips up into his fist, a steady roll that made him groan and pinch harder, grip just slightly tighter. He was distantly aware of the fog that clung to the windows, of the sweat on his own forehead and Scout’s chest beneath his hand, of the squeak of the car’s suspension as they rocked it, but mostly he just focused on the mounting pleasure.

Scout keened against his mouth, gasping damply against him as he stalled out, hips jerking and struggling. He opened his eyes, and the flush on his face, the redness of his lips wound wide around further noises of pleasure, the final gasp of “Fuck, _Snipes_ ,” that Scout managed to whimper, the feeling of Scout’s hand shifting to simply hold on to him instead of both of them, it had him finishing within a few strokes, his own noise much quieter.

In a few minutes, they’d start laughing at the cliche of fucking in a car, start struggling to clean up and get to their own clothes, start talking about how next time Sniper would show him how _real_ fucking worked, about how they’d flip a coin to pick who’d be on top the first time.

Until then, they kissed, and at least in the afterglow, Sniper figured the five months were worth it. Just barely.


	21. Spy/Ma, Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

He clearly thought he was being clever.

_”My God, the luck I must have to end up getting such a beautiful waitress at my table,”_ he said in French, flashing a disarming smile at her as she handed him a menu.

“What was that?” she asked, pretending not to understand.

“Ah, my apologies, miss. I asked how you were doing tonight—it seems you do not have a particularly busy Tuesday evening here,” he observed coolly, still smiling.

He chatted with her idly over the wine selection, his flirting in English exactly light enough that it could easily be brushed off as him merely being at the very charming intersection of both sweet and funny. But each time she approached the table again from that point forward, his greeting in French was always overt.

_”I’m afraid I must have died, for what other reason would an angel presently be approaching me?”_

_”Finally, salvation approaches—and also, of course, the food.”_

_”God, never have I considered getting a permanent visa to stay in America until this very moment, and only so that I might stay here at this table.”_

In English, he was very polite and respectful. And his comments weren’t lewd, weren’t rude, were simply so overtly flirtatious and reverent that she was glad she wasn’t the type to blush easily.

And yet, in English, he was merely friendly.

“I understand that in America, your work shifts are less forgiving?” he asked, frowning a little.

“I work until the doors are locked most nights, then the dishwashers and hosts do the closing,” she replied, topping off his water with such practice that she barely needed to look. “That’s only about seven or eight hours a day, six days a week, and that’s better than the chefs.”

“ _My god_ , how do you manage to stay standing?” he marveled.

“Well, half a dozen sons to support all on my own these days, makes a hell of an incentive,” she divulged, looking away briefly to start sweeping up plates from the table over.

When she looked back up, his eyes were somewhere between soft and filled with wonder. “You’re incredible,” he said, in English, each syllable pronounced deliberately, and she felt her chest swell, a smile pulling insistently at her lips even as she tried to force it down.

“I knew that,” she scoffed anyways, and he laughed, and said a line in French that just had her grinning a little bit more.

Of course he ended up lingering over his meal until closing started to draw near. Of course she slipped him her phone number alongside the check when he finally asked for it, idly wondering what hotel he must be staying at. And he hesitated for a moment, prefaced his question by saying to stop him if he was presuming too much, but would she like to come see when she was off her shift?

And she said yes, and got a few winks and enthusiastic waves from her fellow waitresses when she clocked out about five minutes early and left arm in arm with the handsome suited man from the table near the window.

She flagged down a taxi, and promptly took hold of his arm again when she followed him into it, threading their fingers together as he told the driver which hotel he was staying in. He asked, polite, tone neutral for the company they had, when she was expected back home. She replied that her oldest son was babysitting the others and she wasn’t expected back at any time in particular, almost always back after they were all in bed anyways. Polite conversation about her many sons—seven in total, her being a fairly recent widow—until they got to the hotel, into the elevator, and finally into the room.

He tasted like the wine he’d been sipping patiently on all night, and was sweet enough to bend forward and wrap his arms around her waist to gather her up closer so neither of them would hurt themselves craning their necks. He sat her at the end of the bed, worked her heels off of her feet even as he kissed a line up her leg starting just below her knee. He kneaded away the soreness there and in her calves as he pulled tension from the rest of her body with kisses and little licks, her pantyhose probably a terrible texture to his mouth but he didn’t complain.

He was an absolute gentleman. He gently murmured for her permission before he pulled off her tights, her dress, kissed at her bared neck and shoulders for long minutes before his lips found her ear and he asked if he could strip her fully.

_”You had better before I lose my patience,”_ she replied, purred back at him in just the same tone, and he pulled back, looking down at her with astonishment.

Finally he laughed, leaning in for another brief kiss before pinching at her side teasingly. “You minx,” he accused. “You understood me the whole time?”

“Of course I did. Why else would I have given you my number, sweetheart?” she teased right back, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that got him to sink down against her just a bit further for a moment, making a soft noise of approval.

“Well, I admit it’s convenient,” he seemed to decide. “Often I find myself losing track of my English when I’m being driven wild, and _my dear_ , I have a feeling that you will have an easy time of that,” he said, eyes lingering on her, hungry but contained.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, and pulled him into another kiss, starting to work his shirt off of him.

She was just starting to think, hey, maybe she could hold it together for this guy. Sure, he was handsome, and foreign, and mysterious, and smelled nice and dressed nice and his hair was gorgeous and he spoke like a poet and he was funny in a real way and clearly respectful and polite, but there had to be something he was bad at.

  
Then he promptly lifted her thighs over his shoulders and put his mouth to work, and no, god damn it, he was perfect.

Maybe a touch impolite. She tried to tell him to let up after shaking through her second orgasm on his tongue, but all he did was add fingers into the mix, and suddenly she was onto a third, something her husband had only managed once, on their anniversary, before seven kids passed them by.

He stroked across her skin with soft, well-taken-care-of hands, gentling her all over as she shook and trembled in the wake of it. He left exactly long enough to get her water, and coaxed her into drinking it, nosing her hair aside to kiss at her neck some more as she did. And once she got some water into her system she found herself revitalized, and wound up pushing him back and straddling him, plucking the condom from the bedside table and rolling it on then wasting no time in sinking down onto him where he’d clearly started moving past turned on and into desperate, maybe painfully so. And she showed him well what kind of strength it gave her to walk around a restaurant all day carrying heavy trays in a pair of heels. A stream of filth was leaving his mouth as she unwound him, and it seemed to take a moment before he remembered that she could understand French, because he instantly moved to press his hands to his own mouth to muffle himself. She took both of those hands, guiding one around to her thigh and the other to her chest, and he took up the silent direction without any question at all, only enthusiasm, stroking at and playing with her with no hesitation at all.

His stamina was something to behold, especially after such a lengthy wait and self-tease. She was close by the time he was finished, much to her own surprise, and he didn’t stall for more than a second or two after he was finished to pull her off and roll her beneath him again, his mouth and one hand working her breasts and the other moving back between her legs, working her clit with enough mastery that he managed to finish her off, sending her shivering through what she figured was probably the last she had to give.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight, not at all, but the fact that he got her more water and gently, so gently, so gingerly, took to washing her and wiping her down with several cool, wet towels as she lay there, reduced to a pile of practically-gelatinous limbs by him, well. She thought maybe love at first meeting wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Somewhere in the long, slow minutes, he’d apparently found some amount of vigor again, and she managed to coax him onto his back again, deigning to show him exactly how skilled her mouth was as well, and she felt an amount of pride in the fact that she managed to get him off in a flat ten minutes, even on round two. And they kissed for some unknown, lengthy, wonderful amount of time after that, her straddling him and him running his hands across as much of her skin as he could reach.

He lit a cigarette, and she accepted one when he offered, and they fell into conversation. She talked about her hobbies, how she tended to jump between them wildly, sticking to something for two weeks before she got passably good at it and moved on to something else. He talked about how his own hobbies generally tended to be things like learning new languages and cooking, sometimes reading for fun, mostly fiction. How his job had him traveling a lot.

She found herself starting to nod off a little, listening to his soothing voice, the way he occasionally stumbled over an English word and murmured in French for a few moments before he found it. Listening to him talk about all the places he’d been, stories about interesting locals in those places.

She felt his hand lingering at her inner thigh, and reached over him to stub the crumbly remains of her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, leaving it there. It was a fancy one, nicer than what she usually smoked, which were basically just excuses to take a short break outside during her shift to let her rest her feet or something to occupy her hands with when she waited at the bus stop in the morning. The hand on her thigh stayed there, thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“Sweetheart, I dunno if I can manage staying awake long enough to let you fuck me again,” she admitted, blinking up at him.

“Not my goal,” he said. “I just like the feel of you. You are… when you’re falling apart, it’s… _there are no words_ , my dear.”

“Mm. Next time you’re in town, you should call. Visit again. We can work something out,” she said, kissing just below his jaw.

“But of course.”

She forced herself to get up for long enough to use the bathroom, brush her teeth, and returned back into his arms when she came back.

“Dolly,” he mused quietly, and she looked up at him. “Very American name.”

“Well, Jose sounds more Spanish than French,” she replied, toying idly with his chest hair.

“Fitting, since my father was from Spain,” he replied, sounding amused.

“That why your accent’s weird?”

“Yes. Most don’t notice. Most also don’t speak French.”

“Learned it from my neighbors, and patrons, stuff like that. I always liked the language.”

_“Why is that?”_

“It’s sexy,” she replied, tone cheeky, and leaned up to kiss him right on the tip of his nose. It made him chuckle.

“Well, big-city women several years older than me was never much of a particular appeal, but I might just need to start changing my mind,” he said, kissing her on the cheek, and she giggled, returning to where she’d been cuddling into him earlier.

“You just might,” she agreed.


	22. Demo/Sniper/Scout, Spotlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Sniper knew that out of their ragtag little trio, he tended to be the one who seemed… reluctant. 

Scout and Demo did a lot of hanging out on their own time, because Scout was pretty much always looking to hang out with another person. They went to the bar a good bit, Scout for the music and ambience, Demo because he was buddies with the bartender. They spent far more time together than he did with either of them.

Sometimes he would go sit with Demo while the man was working on something. Not talking, no real conversation, just… sharing a space. And sometimes Scout would come by and ramble at him while he was doing something, and that was nice too.

And it wasn’t that he was jealous of them and how much they got along. It was that he felt guilty that he wasn’t a better partner to them.

Sometimes it was good. Sometimes they all three were together and the push and pull of conversation was in a rhythm that had them staying up late into the night because they didn’t want to break it. Sometimes he almost didn’t ever want to go back to his camper out so far away from everyone.

Other times, he started to feel pretty sure that he wasn’t meant to be around other people period, let alone dating two of the better people he’d ever met. They were far too good for him.

He tried to make up for it. Paid for drinks when they all went out together, brought food when he stopped by the base to visit with them.

And in bed, he tended to pick up the majority of the work. The more awkward positions, the literal and figurative heavy lifting. Every free hand was used to try and build them up higher, and if his mouth was free it was spilling praise across the both of them or drawing pleasure out of them in whatever way possible.

They were the ones working so hard to include him all the time. The least he could do was make it up to them.

Then a shift in the paradigm.

Sitting at the edge of Demo’s bed, Scout having decided to sit right down in his lap and take a lend of his mouth. And he managed to blindly sit his bottle of beer down somewhere safe, and he heard Demo shifting, and assumed it would be like that usually happened, Scout between the two of them, making all sorts of lovely noises as they drew him up and up and up.

But then Demo was behind him instead, big hands moving over his shoulders in a steady pressure. Sniper disconnected he and Scout’s lips, trying to get a look behind him. He couldn’t quite manage it. “What’re you up to, Tavish?” he asked, not upset so much as confused.

Demo hummed, lying a kiss at the back of his neck. “Just enjoyin’ the view is all,” he said casually, and Sniper glanced back at Scout just in time to catch the very tail end of some kind of communication between the two of them, something that resulted in Scout smirking at him. “Carry on, don’t mind me.”

Sniper was a little hesitant, a little wary, but he obliged, leaning back forward to kiss Scout again, who returned it with enthusiasm, arms wrapping up over his shoulders.

He felt Scout smiling against him, and then there was a hand at his own belt. He paid attention to it, still confused, and then his belt was being slid from its place and there was a hand toying with the clasp of his pants, its partner sliding down beneath him to—

He gave a startled moan, parting again as Demo had a hearty grope of him, and he shivered bodily. “What’re you two up to?” he finally asked outright, a little embarrassed of the waver in his voice that came with Scout latching onto a sensitive point just below his jaw.

“Just appreciating our boyfriend is all,” Demo hummed, and when had Scout started unbuttoning his shirt?

“Yeah. Relax, Legs, you’re gonna love it. Just chill out,” Scout agreed, already very satisfied with himself judging by the grin on his face.

“Love _what_ exactly?” he couldn’t help but ask, attention torn between his pants being opened, his shirt being unbuttoned, lips under his jaw and against the back of his head.

“Look, Mundy, we hardly ever get you here all to ourselves, can’t you just let us pamper you a bit?” Demo asked, stern against his hairline.

Sniper hesitated again. “I suppose,” he said slowly, and then his shirt was being pushed down off his shoulders, Scout starting to kiss all sorts of lovely patterns into his collarbone as he tried to work it off. “What about you two?”

“Okay, babe, have you _maybe_ thought that the two of us _might_ think it would be really nice to just kinda love all over a really hot guy for a little while?” Scout asked impatiently, finally managing to get Sniper’s left arm out of the sleeve.

“Good luck finding one,” Sniper joked.

In an instant, zero mouths on him as instead the two of them started to protest that particular sentiment.

“Oh my god, shut up man, you’re a total fuckin’ catch and you know it, are you serious?”

“Love, if you keep talkin’ that way about my boyfriend we’re gonna have to brawl. Those are fightin’ words from anyone else.”

“Like seriously have you _seen_ you? You’re a total stud, it’s ridiculous.”

“A sight for sore eye. A particularly tall drink of water.”

“Alright, alright,” Sniper cut in, surely scarlet. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Okay, here’s what we were thinkin’,” Scout finally said, looking him over with a gaze both appreciative and hungry. “Been a minute since you bottomed. And you’re all about that.”

He flushed even further. Admittedly, he was right. He tended to be on top mostly because Scout enjoyed it so much, other times letting Demo take over that role, but it was rare for him to be on the bottom, and it didn’t take much for it to become clear that he missed it. It was almost embarrassing.

“So Demo does that,” Scout continued. A squeeze of confirmation from Demo. “Then while he does that, I suck you off.”

Sniper shifted. All of that sounded very nice. “And what do you get out of this?” he had to ask, though.

“Uh, I get to suck you off? And I love doin’ that?” Scout said, like it was obvious. “I’m an expert too, it’ll be real nice watching you fall apart like that.”

He had a point there. Scout was an absolute master at giving head. To the point where it wasn’t even something they could joke about, he was genuinely just that good.

“Alright,” he finally said, even if he did feel a bit guilty still.

Silence for a second. “So get your fuckin’ pants off,” Scout prompted, impatient as always, practically bouncing with excitement. “C’mon, let’s do this.”

Demo laughed, and it gave Sniper enough comfort to do as asked, prompting Scout to sit up on his knees to free his legs so he could shuffle his pants the rest of the way off.

“How come neither of you ever wear underwear?” Scout asked, helping shuck Sniper out of his undershirt.

“Convenience,” Demo and Sniper chimed simultaneously.

“You’re animals,” Scout deadpanned, moving back enough to let Sniper and Demo reposition. Sniper shifted so he was sat on Demo’s thighs, and was distantly surprised to find that Demo’s thighs were bare. Guess he was set, then. “Need me for anything?”

“Nah, you do what you’d like,” Demo shrugged, and Sniper heard the click of the bottle of slick opening behind him. “Just don’t finish him off, awright?”

“Fair,” Scout shrugged, and hooked an arm over Sniper’s shoulders to draw him into a kiss again.

Sniper was glad for it, because it muffled the little noise he made when warm, slick fingers slid down over him.

Demo always managed to make prep part of foreplay, hitting that point just between being a tease and being efficient, between taking his time and making his partner groan. He had broad fingers, and it had Sniper panting within moments of adjusting to a second finger, clutching Scout’s hips hard to keep from reaching down to get a hand on himself. Scout grinned at the noises that started spilling out from between his lips, pulling back a little to listen to them.

“There’s a lad,” Demo hummed against his shoulder, one strong arm around his waist to hold him still as the other teased him open.

“You can… go faster than that,” Sniper managed, voice weak.

Demo hummed again and did so, motions speeding up just a tick. Sniper forced himself to breathe deeply, clenching his jaw a little bit at the pleasure and, admittedly, mild discomfort. Scout kissed him again to coax him into relaxing, and it worked, even if he did feel embarrassed about the noises that followed.

Scout’s noises were always gorgeous, moaning and gasping unashamed, only tempered if there was a risk of noise complaints and otherwise clear as a bell. And Demo always sounded incredible too, low and sexy, murmuring smooth like honey and soothing over rough edges, rumbling through his partners and leaving shivers like aftershocks.

Sniper wasn’t much a fan of his own noises. Choked-off groans, little noises on the tail end of his panting, occasional bouts of filth just to get the two of them to shiver. He tried his best to stifle them so he could instead listen to the other two. But on the rare occasions when he was the one being worked open, he got loud. Hoarse moans, voice ragged, it was always so embarrassing, even if Demo and Scout both insisted that they liked it, encouraged it even.

He tried to stifle himself on Scout’s shoulder. Scout allowed it, fingers tracing idly over some of his scars by muscle memory.

Beyond the pleasure thrumming through him, he could vaguely hear Demo and Scout speaking to each other. He tried to tune in, but couldn’t make anything out in particular over his own panting. God, he could already feel himself drifting, inhibitions fading into background noise.

Then those fingers left him, and alertness filtered back.

“Gonna start in now, awright, Mundy?” Demo prompted, even as Scout got up off of Sniper’s lap. Sniper leaned forward enough to plant a parting kiss on his jugular, and he was grinning when a Sniper caught sight of him.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, and shifted up a bit. “How’d you want me?”

They settled into their new position, Demo sitting at the edge of the bed with his legs a bit apart, Sniper knelt on his lap facing outward, his own legs on the outside of Demo’s. He felt extremely exposed for a few moments until he realized that this was something they subjected Scout to more often than not, and he promptly calmed down, even if he did feel the absurd urge to cover up.

Then Scout was on the ground, tossing a pillow to the floor for his knees, settling between Demo’s legs and watching them with a hungry stare.

“Let me do the work here, love,” Demo soothed, a hand on Sniper’s flank and the other on himself, guiding Sniper into sinking down. When he was far enough down, Demo moved both hands to his waist, helping support his weight as he slowly took him in.

Shaky breathing. Occasional pangs of discomfort, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness and the pleasure that the concept poured into him.

“Easy, Mundy,” Demo prompted, and Sniper realized he’d been pushing back against Demo’s hands, and eased up. “There you go. Nice and slow. Gorgeous.”

“Fuck, you look good,” Scout marveled, leaning his cheek on his hand and watching them both.

Sniper managed to get enough air in to speak as he finally sunk down that last inch, allowed to rest and collect himself for a few moments. “Not sure I’m gonna last long with both of you,” he warned, voice weak. Already he felt sweat beading all across his face and down his back.

“We’ll go easy on you,” Scout said, eyeing where Sniper was practically twitching with need.

“Give it a moment, Scoot,” Demo said, and Scout nodded, and Demo’s hips rolled once very lightly in warning before they were in motion.

Adjusting, minute shifting, adjusting. Sniper felt his chest practically heaving, anticipation coiled tight. Then he barked out a sound of pleasure as Demo hit just the right angle, and he felt a beardy chuckle against his shoulder, and Demo shifted to hold tight onto his thighs, and then they really got going.

It took maybe five seconds for Sniper’s usually iron-clad self control to splinter, and he was gasping on every ingress, groaning openly as Demo bodily moved him, a lift and tug back down with each roll of his hips. He shifted to follow the rhythm, to speed them up, but Demo didn’t allow it, and he was left bobbing half-desperately, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows crooking up in the middle.

“Fuck,” Scout breathed below them, and Sniper forced his eyes back open, forced himself to look down and forward, even as his face flushed. Scout had his own pants open, and was tugging at himself in steady motions, eyes hungry.

“Feckin’ gorgeous,” Demo agreed, breathed against his back and hot against the sweat there, and Sniper could only shudder, his whole body feeling trembly and electric, like he’d put his skin on crooked.

Demo continued to tease him, to hold him just there in the surge of pleasure but not allowing it to crest. Sniper reached for himself, but Scout caught his hands, holding them off and making him writhe a little in desperation.

“Let me,” Scout all but demanded, and then there was a hand on his dick, and then there was a mouth on his dick.

Sniper’s noises rose in volume almost instantly. This setup was truly devilish—Demo bounced him on his lap, and Scout didn’t even need to bob his head, staying in place and letting them do the work for him, putting his tongue and lips to use with very little effort needed on his part.

Suddenly the pace rocketed from not enough to far too much, overwhelming and melting him from the inside. He called out a noise of utter desperation with each hard thrust into him, growing more undone by the moment. He pleadingly tried to warn them how close he was, head lolling and thighs trembling, and they only urged him on harder.

He came hard, sure he was about to pull a muscle with how hard they clenched, almost to the point of pain. Twin groans from Demo and Scout, Demo pressing kisses into his shoulders and Scout swallowing eagerly as Sniper spilled into his mouth.

A second or two of breath, then Demo’s hands shifted, and Sniper rushed to collect himself. “No, finish off,” he urged, voice even more hoarse and rough than usual. He could feel that Demo was throbbing, surely close to the edge.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Demo replied.

“Please, Tavish,” he practically begged, too far gone to feel ashamed, and that was all it took before Demo rolled back into motion, a tick faster than before.

“Jesus,” Scout breathed, and Sniper looked down and saw that Scout was pumping almost desperately at himself as he watched the show, breath fast. “You look so _fuckin’_ good, Snipes.”

Sniper smiled, groaning as Demo finally crested the edge, slamming in a final two times and spilling with his own husky sound. That pushed Scout over the edge, and he spilled into his own fist, eyes falling shut and cheek pressing into Sniper’s knee.

They were kissing at him, Demo on his neck and Scout on his thigh. And it felt nice and all, but all at once Demo was starting to feel like too much in him, and he shifted as if to lift himself. Demo assisted, sliding him up carefully until he was freed, sitting him back down on Demo’s lap again.

“Made a right mess of you,” Demo observed. “Look like we just fished you out of a pond, lad.”

“Hit by a truck,” Scout agreed.

“Feels like it,” Sniper agreed weakly, leaning back into Demo’s chest and very much appreciating how he was the midpoint between soft and solid. More than usual, even. “In a good way.”

“You’ve gotta let us do that more,” Scout urged.

“Only if you two are willing to clean up the mess afterwards,” Sniper half-laughed. “I’m bloody exhausted.”

“Poor thing,” Demo murmured, lying a kiss on the side of his head sympathetically. “Care to take a bit of a kip before we clean up?”

Sniper hummed in the affirmative, pretty sure he couldn’t stand up just then, let alone be in the shower for however long.

They ended up lying together, Sniper getting to be in the middle for once. Scout tucked himself under Sniper’s chin and tangled their legs together idly, and Demo was at his back again, the warm weight of his arm immensely comforting.

“But seriously,” Scout said after about three minutes of silence, Sniper shaken back awake by it. “Can we do that again?”

Sniper considered it. Demo’s thumb drew a circle into his skin. “Yeah, awright,” he finally said.

“Hell yeah,” Scout murmured, and Demo chuckled, and Sniper smiled.


	23. Sniper/Scout, New Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for roughness)

Yes, Sniper lived in a shitty campervan that was roughly as old as a middle schooler. But that didn’t necessarily disqualify him from being someone who could appreciate a nice car.

And Scout had a nice car.

Their mercenary jobs were pretty high-paying. High-paying enough that Sniper knew he probably never had to work again. High-paying enough that Spy could afford the business expense of replacing his already ridiculously expensive suits on the weekly if they were damaged. High-paying enough that Medic could be constantly buying all sorts of organs from the black market on the regular just for experimentation purposes.

Scout was one of the mercenaries who decided to buy a nice car—Spy for business reasons, Demo because he needed a car and figured he might as well get one new. But Scout divulged to him at some point that finally he got the first paycheck that was entirely his own, most of it having gone back home to his family for at least a year to help them all live in better conditions than they’d all grown up in, to support all the families they themselves had started. And with that first paycheck, he got a very, _very_ nice car.

A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro. Bright orange body, black stripes. Custom suspension, tinted windows, he even got a custom horn on the goddamn thing. The rims on it cost more than his entire van and everything in it, he was pretty sure. Newer than new. And the first thing Scout did when he got it was ask Sniper if he wanted to come along with him on a drive.

“Where?” Sniper asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Scout laughed, shrugged, and Scout standing there in his straight up _regular_ clothes holding the keys to a car nicer than anything Sniper had ever sat in, even at a car show, for some reason he found that extremely hot.

They set out a little later that evening, and to be fair, Scout usually wasn’t a terrible driver. He just tended to forget the speed limit, or what exit he was supposed to take, and sometimes forgot when he had the turn signal on, and really did usually take things like suggested speeds on curving roads as a loose suggestion, or as he put it, “the speed that little bitches should take the curve at”.

But now he was absolutely tearing up the road, speeding wildly beyond the limit just because he could—just to see what he could do. And usually Sniper got on his case about it, but just then? Just then he would’ve been doing the exact same thing. Faster, even.

They put the windows down, and Sniper had to keep a tight hold on his hat and shades before they flew off into the desert. And he could barely even hear Scout’s cheering over the wind, but he could feel it rising up in his chest alongside his own pounding heartbeat.

He looked over at Scout, saw the way his eyes were lit up, the flush on his face, the adrenaline blowing his pupils wide, and bloody fucking hell but he’d never seen anyone look more _alive_ than Scout did in that moment.

He directed Scout to pull over, there at a cliffside on one of the mesas, and the minute the parking brake was on he was leaning over the gearshift and kissing Scout like the world was ending.

Scout looked smug, mostly, pulling back and looking Sniper up and down. “Hyped about my hot car?” he asked, like he already knew, which apparently he did, because Sniper absolutely was. “Hey, check the glovebox.”

Sniper pulled away, a little confused, but did. His eyebrows shot up at the bottle that tumbled out of it.

“This why you asked me to come along?” Sniper asked, picking up the lube from the floorboards and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Also because I thought it would be fun. But yeah,” Scout agreed, eyes glittering.

Sniper popped open his own door. “Bend over the hood.”

It was a little chilly outside, so Scout kept his shirt on, but otherwise he stripped from the waist down. Sniper worked him open nice and slow, really made him beg for it, before grabbing him by the ankles and flipping him onto his back.

“What do you want, love?” He practically growled, Scout’s legs over his shoulders, leaning forward and very much enjoying watching Scout bend and bend and _bend_ without discomfort.

“You fuckin’ _know_ what I want—“ Scout mumbled, face flushed, and gasped when Sniper’s hand came down hard on his ass, head rolling back.

“I want to hear you say it,” Sniper said, even as he slicked himself up. “What do you want?”

“I want you to _fuck me_ ,” Scout said, more than a little desperate.

“There’s a love,” Sniper said, and pushed in, and gave Scout only a few seconds to adjust before he started moving.

Scout’s hand fell to the hood below him, desperately trying to find some kind of grip to get leverage to brace himself as he was pounded into. But there wasn’t one, and he was left practically helpless, rocking and moaning with abandon as their skin smacked almost violently together. Sniper’s hands went to brace Scout’s leg against his shoulder and to grip his hip, and was pleased with the restraint Scout had to not reach for himself when it became clear that Sniper wasn’t planning on it, just staying along for the ride.

At first, at least. Sniper drew him higher and higher into his pleasure, and soon he was left sweaty and flushed, starting to stain the bottom of his shirt as he started to leak onto it. Sniper let Scout’s legs drop from his shoulders to instead wrap around his waist, shoving up his shirt and getting his mouth all over Scout’s chest, one hand bracing on his shoulder as his thrusts slowed down into hard slams rather than almost frantic pounding.

Scout keened into it, hands tangling into Sniper’s hair. “Oh, fuck,” he managed to gasp, weak and desperate. “Fuck, please. Please.”

“Please what?” Sniper prompted, a growl against his ribcage before he moved to suck one nipple into his mouth roughly.

A mewl of pleasure, Scout starting to try to rock against him again, muscles coiling tight. “Please let me come, I wanna come,” he pleaded, voice pitched high and threatening to break.

He continued to beg, only with increasing fervor as Sniper slowed his pace even further, bringing his hand down on Scout’s ass a second time, a third. It was only when his words faded into incoherence that he picked the pace back up, reaching a hand between them to grip at Scout.

A gasp, practically a flinch. “Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” he managed, voice tight.

“You gonna come for me?” Sniper asked, pulling back enough to look at Scout’s face. His eyes were clenched shut tight, his mouth hanging open as he painted.

“Yeah,” Scout moaned, long and languid, writhing almost involuntarily against him. “Yeah, fuck!”

Scout came hard, legs squeezing around his waist almost to the point of crushing, spurting across his own chest and stomach and crying out Sniper’s title like salvation.

When he was finally finished, Sniper pulled out and let his legs drop from his waist, a controlled fall. Then he grabbed him by the ankles and flipped him over again, now onto his stomach, and pushed back in again.

A bark of surprise followed by a groan as Sniper went back to the previous pace, his own breath quick in his chest now.

“C’mon,” Scout urged breathlessly, pushing back into Sniper’s thrusts, trying and failing again to brace his hands against the hood. “C’mon, Snipes.”

It pushed him over the edge, Scout’s hands sliding desperately and uselessly over the hood beneath him, and he rocked forward a final one, two, three times before he spilled, legs locked, with a choked groan.

A few moments of panting, of trying to get air. Then he pulled out, and Scout managed to lean up on shaky elbows, looking down.

“You son of a bitch,” he swore, and leaned aside, twisting to glare at Sniper.

Sniper grinned, seeing Scout’s orgasm slicked over the hood, stark against the orange and black paint job, smeared between his stomach and the car alongside sweat and condensation where he’d been pushed up against it. It was like something out of a pinup magazine—gorgeous guy, pulled apart at the seams over the hood of a gorgeous car.

“It’ll buff out,” he assured, still grinning.


	24. Sniper/Scout, Bottom!Sniper Admissions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Scout pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, and when he spoke, his voice was suddenly very much not suited to the mood in the room, tone bright and focused rather than quiet and playful. “Okay, so here’s the thing.”

Sniper frowned at it, prickling immediately. It felt like a dynamic had shifted all at once. And with him lying there with his hands tied to the headboard, bare down to his waist and pinned under Scout’s weight on his thighs, he wasn’t sure he wanted too significant a dynamic shift. “Yeah?” he asked slowly, trying to get a read on Scout.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Scout assured quickly, hands lying on his chest, applying a light and admittedly soothing pressure. “I just wanted to, uh, talk about somethin’ real quick. And you kinda have this thing of tryin’ to avoid conversations like this because it makes you all nervous and stuff and I just sorta figured it would be a lot easier to talk to you when I kinda had you, uh…”

A pause.

“Okay, so the only word I can think of right now is captive but that’s not the right word for it,” Scout said quickly. “Like, what’s the word for when you’ve got someone’s full and total attention? Like they’re totally just listening?”

“Focused?” Sniper tried.

“I guess? More like, uh… centered, maybe. I dunno. But you get what I mean, right?”

Sniper nodded hesitantly.

“Anyways. Uh. What was I sayin’, uh, focused… a conversation, right, okay. So here’s the thing,” Scout started in, shifting a little. “So for the past like, two month, basically since we kinda took the leap, y’know? Into, uh, more than just making out and whatever?”

Sniper nodded again.

“Well, that first time we just kinda jerked each other off since we were here in my place and I didn’t have any stuff to do anything else, then the time after that I had lube and so I rode you. And then I did that again the time after that, and the time after _that_. And I asked if you wanted to spice things up a little, and then I tied you down like this, and that was great, and then I rode you again. And, I dunno, it’s just…”

“…You’re getting bored?” Sniper tried, carefully.

“No, I’m not _bored_ , I’m just…” An exhale. “I just kinda feel a little bit like you’re… I dunno. I’m worried _you’re_ bored. Or, not bored, more like… not into it. It feels kinda like you’re just goin’ along with what I wanna do, just going through the motions sorta.”

Sniper felt a pang of guilt.

“Like, when we were sitting around and hanging out all the time, I could tell you were into it. When we were making out between matches and whatever, I could tell you were into it. And now we’ve tried doing this, and it feels like you just… not that you don’t like it, more that you don’t… I dunno. It feels like you’re just kinda along for the ride.”

“Not enthusiastic?” Sniper tried.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Scout was playing with his chest hair idly. “I just… is there somethin’ you want me to do that I’m not doin’? It’s… it’s okay if you aren’t… into this. I just want you to tell me, and… to talk to me. What’s up? What’s making you act all weird?”

Sniper considered the question. “I do like you,” he started out with, and that took away some of the storm clouds brewing behind Scout’s eyes. “I do. And I do… want you. I suppose I’m just…” He turned his words over a few times. “I’m not used to this sort of relationship. And I know some of the things I used to put up with, before this one, weren’t all that good for me, and I’m still… sorting out what I liked and what I made myself try and like. And… well, sex was always a centerpoint of those relationships. So I’m figuring out that I’m not as rock-solid as I thought, and I’m not sure how to ask for things that I do want.”

“So… what, should I ask you more? What you want?”

Sniper shrugged what amount he could.

“Well what do you want then?” Scout asked, chuckling, lightly dragging fingernails against Sniper’s sternum, a surprisingly pleasant sensation.

Sniper swallowed hard. He kind of wished he could look away inconspicuously, but Scout took up pretty much his whole field of view. He blinked once or twice instead. “Er,” he tried, hesitated. Sighed a little at himself. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed without having to think about it too hard.

An inhale, an exhale. “Could you get down here at least?” he asked, and Scout smiled, leaning in and setting to work kissing over the expanse of Sniper’s neck, made easier when Sniper tilted his head obligingly.

“What’s up?” Scout asked, mouth free for only a moment before he was right back to work.

Sniper swallowed again. Steadied himself. “Want you to fuck me,” he admitted. “Hard.”

A moment of stillness was all the surprise Scout allowed himself to show. “What else?” he asked, voice teasing.

A breath. “I want you to stuff me full of a toy and fuck my mouth,” he admitted.

“What else?” Scout asked, and there was heat in his voice, in the way he carded fingers through Sniper’s hair and tugged. It made Sniper’s pulse thump.

“I want you to flip me over and eat me out and make me beg,” Sniper managed, voice tight with the combination of thrill and arousal.

A shaky breath from Scout, whose enthusiasm had only jumped with every phrase and who finally pulled back enough to kiss him hard on the mouth. “So the gist of it is that you wanna get fucked more?” he asked, a little out of breath as he pulled back again. Sniper nodded. _“Hell_ yes.”

In the span of a moment, Scout had parted Sniper’s thighs and moved to sit between them, shucking him of his boxers with efficiency and only fumbling a little bit when he reached to grab the lube from where he’d put it a bit earlier.

“You wanna stay tied up for this?” Scout asked, eyeing the binding, and Sniper considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Okay. I’ll take it slow and all, we’ve got all night and I kinda—“

“You,” Sniper cut in, face flushing, and Scout stopped talking, looking back up at him from where he was warming the lube on his fingers. “You, er, won’t need to go _terribly_ slow.”

Scout frowned. “What?”

“I…” He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “Only been a few days is all. Tend to… when I’m sort of, er… taking care of things on my own, it’s… I’m not far out of practice, is what I mean.”

“Hot,” Scout quipped, and Sniper rolled his eyes, fighting down a grin. “Yeah, alright.”

While Sniper was still staring up at the ceiling, the first finger circled, pressed, and finally pushed, and he released a breath somewhere between surprise and relief.

Scout moved slowly at first, but soon enough started working him open with speed and confidence earned through experience. And once he was probably opened up enough to start in, he didn’t let up, instead moving to prod at Sniper’s prostate, pressing and rubbing in almost punishing movements, and all too soon Sniper was gasping, arching, unraveling enough to start making noises, cries of pleasure as the pressure didn’t let up. He bucked his hips almost desperately, and wailed outright when Scout promptly moved to pin one of his thighs beneath his knee, his free hand pushing the other into place there at the edge of his flexibility until he felt pinned open like a butterfly under glass. His thrashing and wriggling was then reserved for his waist up, eyes falling closed under the assault of pleasure on his senses, his dick woefully under-stimulated even as pleasure coursed through him strongly enough to make him lose track of words, of volume, of everything. His fists clenched up above his head, his eyes clenched shut, his toes curled, his breath caught.

A kiss just above his navel grounded him again, and he managed to blink his eyes open, looking down. Scout was smirking up at him, extremely self-satisfied as he allowed a brief reprieve in the assault on Sniper’s senses just to take in how wrecked Sniper already was. “God. If you weren’t beggin’ me to fuck you a little bit ago, I’d kinda be tempted to just get you off like this. You look real good, like nothin’ I’ve ever seen, even in those magazines.”

“I wasn’t begging,” Sniper protested, belated and weak.

“Heh.” Scout’s grin was sharp and sent a thrill through him, a quiver through his thighs and a spin through his head. “You will.”

“Like you won’t snap first,” Sniper managed, trying to work up his own courage, the task made easier by the way Scout was eyeing him, clearly extremely pleased with what all he saw, a vague kind of wonder. “Like you’re not desperate too. Bugger off with the superiority, mate, you know as well as I do that you want me.”

“Damn fucking right I want you, have you _seen_ you?” Scout scoffed, and flickered his fingers, and Sniper’s head rolled back, a moan rising clear from his throat. “Fuckin’ _look_ at you. Christ, I’d keep you like this all night if you’d let me. And if my dick didn’t just straight up pop first.”

“Don’t make me beg, Scout,” Sniper finally warned.

“Fine,” Scout laughed, and pressed hard one more time before he slid his fingers free, wiping them off on Sniper’s boxers and freeing himself from his own clothing. He then promptly grabbed Sniper by the calf and tossed his leg up over his shoulder, turning him nearly sideways. A moment of fumbling, and then the first push, and a firmer one when that didn’t get him much of anywhere.

Sniper managed to hold back the majority of his noises while Scout waited for him to adjust, shifting his arms in his bonds just slightly. And Scout was sweet enough to wait until he was well past ready, until he was earnestly rolling his hips and trying to get that sweet friction.

Scout stroked a hand over his thigh soothingly, moving in short, firm strokes as he tried to find the right angle. Long moments, long attempts, and then he seemed to realize he needed to shift them, moving to pull Sniper’s other leg up as well, pinning it back and making his lower half jerk off the bed as finally he shifted and rolled his hips _just_ right.

“Buggering—“ Sniper started to swear, and then Scout did it again, and his voice jumped up an octave. “Oh, _oh_ Christ, ffff—fuck me, Scout,” he practically pleaded, head rolling back listlessly.

A breath from Scout, and then he did, starting into a rhythm, steady and easy for Sniper to cope with, but at the same time, not nearly enough.

“Harder,” he groaned, trying to roll down into it, barking out a sharp sound of pleasure when he listened, speed and strength increasing. Scout’s thighs collided with him on every ingress, and they were hard and firm in a way that was exactly punishing enough to make him melt. The onslaught was so perfect, so much better than he could recreate in his head, and he found breath difficult, distantly aware of the sweat rapidly starting to bead on his face.

With plenty of partners, Sniper could expect the pace to shift, falling into something more relaxing for a few moments to gather up some more energy. But Scout didn’t pause, didn’t falter, the strength of his legs and core put to an unexpectedly pleasureable use as he damn near fucked Sniper’s brains out, hard and unrelenting like a machine. It left his head spinning, the edge slinking into view almost embarrassingly quickly, and he was secretly a bit glad for the way his wrists were bound just then because otherwise he was sure he’d be spilling over his own hand in seconds.

Scout held him there, teetering, close but unable to close that last bit of distance before the finish line, until his own breath was ragged, until his pace shifted into something heavier. “Ready?” Scout asked him, practically a croak, and Sniper could only stammer a few words in the affirmative before he was back to wordless exhalations as Scout spat into his hand and started jerking Sniper off, firm and straightforward, and his moan of defeat was largely hidden under the curses Scout managed through gritted teeth, both of them spent at damn near the same moment.

Sniper’s descent back down to earth was slow, and he murmured a sort of complaint when Scout pulled out and got free of his legs. But then his arms were untied, and he was being pulled close into an embrace.

“Wanna get clean now, or in the morning?” Scout mumbled into his hair, sounding downright contented.

“Morning,” Sniper said.

“Cool. Roll over.”

Sniper did, a bit confused, and chuckled when he was pulled back against Scout’s chest and cradled. “Mate, don’t need coddling,” he said, amused.

“Bottom gets to be little spoon. It’s the rules. Shuttup and let me cuddle you,” Scout pouted into the back of his neck, words muddled by his lips being pressed against skin.

“Fair,” he agreed, and adjusted his head a little to get more comfortable, clasped an arm around one of Scout’s. “Worried about my, er. Enthusiasm anymore?”

“A little,” Scout said. Sniper frowned and was about to ask some follow up questions, but Scout elaborated. “I mean, fuck, I bet the whole base heard you, even from way out here.”

“I’ll make you go sleep in your own room,” Sniper warmed, tone dead serious. “Don’t test me.”

A little laugh, a squeeze. “Nah, but really. I’m glad you said somethin’. And now I’ve got somethin’ to look forward to next weekend.”

“And what’s that?” Sniper asked quizzically.

“What was it you said, uh—“stuff me full of a toy and _bugger_ my _mouth_ , mate, that’s _aces_ , oh _holy dooley”,_ wasn’t it?”

“Right, I’m showering and you’ve got fifteen seconds to get out,” Sniper said flatly, starting to get out of bed, even as Scout laughed, starting to protest, holding on tight to him and refusing to let go even at the threat of falling out of the bed.

To be fair, it wasn’t the next week. It was the next morning when they woke up and Scout saw the fingerprint bruises all over Sniper’s thighs. But either way, Sniper would begrudgingly admit that he was glad he’d said something too.


	25. Sniper/Scout, Crossfaction Brat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for canon-typical violence at the beginning and talk of it and other mercenary work through the middle)

He wasn’t entirely sure how he got into this situation.

Admittedly, his instincts told him that something was up pretty early on, and he ignored them, assuming he was just being paranoid, or bitter. The kid surely wasn’t trying to infuriate him on purpose. The bobbing and weaving and being a general nuisance to hit was more likely him just trying to stay alive like everyone else. The fact that Sniper could hardly ever get a bead on him was just the fact that he was at least competent enough to use his speed and mobility to his advantage. The fact that he’d only ever scored bodyshots on him was just luck.

Then he started pointing out Sniper to his team, seeing a teammate fall or a bullet impact against a wall and within a second or two talking into his mic and pointing for nearby teammates. And within minutes, he would be backstabbed or headshot by the enemy Sniper, receiving suppressing fire from their Heavy, and sometimes a pill bomb would soar into his window and fuck up whatever streak he had going. It was infuriating.

Still, he told himself it was just the kid doing his job. He did the same thing about sentry nests, and stickybomb traps, and Medic being ready to Uber.

Then, one fateful Friday, about ten minutes before the match was up, it happened.

The payload wasn’t even anywhere near him. He could hear his team over the comms, and they sounded pretty confident, so he kept a considerable distance back, in the shade of one of the buildings along a walkway, just in case he needed to wipe out a sudden push if the tides turned on a dime. Plenty of time in the clock, most of the team alive—no reason to worry.

Then a clatter of feet hitting wood off to one side of him, and he spun in time to see that the RED Scout was there, grinning, very much having got the jump on him. He didn’t even have time to reach for his knife before the bat collided with his arm, sending his gun tumbling away, then with his knee, sending him to the ground. Then there was a foot on his chest, pressing hard, and the kid was smirking down at him, and there was a pistol pointed right between his eyes.

“What, you didn’t see me comin’ with that fancy scope’a yours?” he snarked, grin toothy.

Sniper sneered, and was about to snap something scathing back at him, but then the kid fired one round into his shoulder and it was whited out of his head, replaced by a very undignified yelp of pain.

“Hey, maybe you’ll get back at me for this one’a these days, y’know, if you ever actually _hit_ me.”

A second round into his other shoulder, and another cry of pain.

“Y’know what, the match is almost over for the day. How about when you respawn, you just _stay_ there. Not like there’s anything else you’ll be useful for.”

He heard the gun fire, but he died before his brain could process seeing the bullet that did it.

And the worst part was that he did stay in their Respawn room. He heard his team cheering victory through their microphones and felt the ground shake ten seconds after he stood back up. So he just shouldered his gun and started heading back to the locker rooms, knowing logically that there was nothing further to gain from heading out again, but still feeling unsatisfied largely due to the roiling mess of fury boiling away in his stomach.

He was left so restless from it that he agreed to head out with Demo and Heavy to the local bar. He got dressed in the only articles of civilian clothing he really owned that would suit the setting, and found out too late that both Demo and Heavy needed to take a rain check, Demo because he’d been roped into some sort of antics with Soldier, and Heavy because he’d forgotten he was planning on helping Medic with something.

To hell with it, he’d gotten dressed and all, and he was still left feeling jittery and off-kilter. He asked to borrow Demo’s car to head out regardless and got permission and the keys, and went.

Walked in, planning to head straight to the bar, order already in his head, when he saw him.

For a minute he was confused. Because he’d seen his own team’s Scout sitting and watching TV with the Pyro right before he left. Then he looked over the man at the bar a little more closely, and realized who’d just fucked up badly enough to stumble into the wrong goddamn bar.

He knew how he was about to play this almost immediately, and didn’t waste a second before starting in.

He took a seat directly to the right of the kid. He didn’t even look up. Then he mumbled his order to the bartender, and then the kid was sat at attention, staring at him, dead surprised.

He didn’t give him the luxury of eye contact until he was handed his drink. He accepted it, gave a brief thanks to the bartender, and took a gulp.

He looked at the kid. The kid looked away, eyes flicking down to his own glass, visibly rattled.

“There a problem, mate?” he asked the Scout, tone calm, casual.

He swallowed hard. The bob of his adam’s apple drew the Sniper’s eye for a moment. “Uh,” he tried, a little shaky. “Just. What the fuck do you want, man?”

A pause. The kid seemed to immediately regret getting bold for a second.

“I don’t want anything, what gave you that idea?” he asked idly.

“We’re off hours, man,” the Scout started to defend, leg bouncing eyes locked forward again. “You can’t—you, you know you’re about allowed to try—“

“What can’t I do?” Sniper interrupted, voice low. He clammed up. “What exactly is it that you think I won’t do?”

He gulped again. “Look, just leave me alone,” he said, voice shaky. “If you’re gonna kick my ass, try it on the clock, guy. Until then, hit the bricks.”

“Not until you tell me what your bloody problem is.”

The Scout flinched a little, clearly knowing exactly what Sniper meant. “Fuck are you talkin’ about?” he challenged anyways.

Sniper narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been targeting me. Making my job difficult. Having just a _lovely_ little time trying to piss me off.” A slight tilt to his head. “What, are you bored, pissed off? Are you looking for attention, not getting enough of it from your fellow RED lunatics?”

A shift in the Scout’s shoulders that suggested he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Well, you’ve got my attention. I’m _all_ ears now,” Sniper said, voice still low and level but taking on a dangerous sort of edge to it. “What do you want?”

The Scout was starting to scowl. “Nothin’.” He sunk a little when he caught a glimpse of Sniper’s glare. “For real, nothin’. Nothin’ you’d ever wanna give me, anyway.”

“Tell me, or I beat it out of you,” Sniper said, tone dark.

A harsh sigh from Scout, who promptly downed a hearty swig of his drink. The glass returning to the table was with a noise harsh enough to make the bartender glance over. “See, that’s how I know it’s not gonna happen,” he practically spat.

Silence. Sniper tried hard to understand what exactly he meant by that. Then his brows furrowed. “You can’t be serious,” he deadpanned, suddenly realizing what Scout was saying, what he was insinuating.

The Scout took another drink.

“We’re on opposite teams. Just my Soldier and your Demo being _friends_ became a whole issue. Have you gone absolutely bloody mental?”

The Scout took another drink.

Sniper considered that. Looked down at his own drink. Thought over a few things.

Dating wasn’t exactly an option in his line of work. Hard to find someone who was both alright with the idea of killing people and was also willing to deal with the very strict schedule he had for work. And this RED apparently had a pretty similar schedule to him.

A glance out of the corner of his eye. And he wasn’t bad looking.

He thumbed at an itch on his jaw and downed the remainder of his drink, pushing the glass and the payment across the counter. A pretty considerable tip for the bartender, but he could afford it.

Then he stood up, rolled his shoulders. Leveled a look at the kid, who seemed downcast, ashamed even.

“I’m headed out back for a smoke,” he said matter-of-fairly. The kid looked up at him, confused for a moment, before catching the pointed eye contact he was making. A fidget of a nod at the kid, and then he was making his way towards the back door near the restrooms.

The alleyway was empty but for an overflowing dumpster down the way, cigarette butts and broken bottles littering the ground in some places. There wasn’t even a clear view of the street, and the only windows overlooking the place were boarded up, the other building having once likely been actually used for something but now stood abandoned and likely long-looted.

He lit a cigarette and waited.

This was the only potential issue he had with the kid. Opposite sides of a conflict and all, he could just be trying to get Sniper alone so he could do any number of things. Drug him and drag him back to his base to get ransom from his team or employer, maybe, or to be handed over to the lunatic RED Medic for experimentation like he’d done with the head of their Spy, or maybe even just to get broken down until he wasn’t fit for battle anymore and he could get replaced by someone who was, most likely, largely useless compared to him.

Or maybe he was being earnest. Maybe this was something they could make work. Keep quiet about it, maybe. But whatever the Scout did next would determine whether that was a possibility.

He could play it safe, chug his drink and pay and get the hell out of there scot-free. The Sniper would absolutely be able to get away with killing him, and odds were the Scout probably wasn’t armed, hadn’t been expecting consequences for his little game he was playing on the battlefield. Maybe he had a knife or something on him, but he might be smart enough to not risk it, or too scared.

Or maybe this was a convoluted attempt at attacking the Sniper, and he would follow him and pull a weapon. And if that happened, the Sniper was armed with a pistol and that problem would solve itself within a few seconds.

Or maybe he was seriously, legitimately trying to preposition the Sniper, even if it was in his own ridiculous way, and maybe he would be bold enough to follow him out back. That was a show of both humility and trust (something hired killers tended to keep in very short stock), and was something he’d take as proof enough that the Scout was being genuine.

He checked his watch. He decided he would stand there smoking for ten minutes. At the end of ten minutes, he would head back inside, maybe get another drink, and head back to base in case of the risk that the Scout was trying to call in backup or some other terrible idea.

He only had to wait for three. Then the kid was shouldering the door open, peeking out, looking extremely nervous.

Sniper finished taking a pull and stubbed the rest of the cigarette out against the brick before he flicked it away.

The kid was stood fully outside, then, fidgeting, shuffling. He couldn’t quite seem to meet Sniper’s eye. “Uh,” he said, and probably meant to say more, but he promptly shut up when Sniper turned to face him.

“C’mere,” he ordered calmly.

The RED hesitated. Fidgeted. Then he did, glancing at the ground and stepping around one of the broken bottles, and ended up standing a good two feet in front of Sniper.

Sniper considered him. Looked him up and down. And yeah, he wasn’t half bad. Not at all. Up close like this, he got some small reassurance in that he wasn’t quite as young as he looked, either, was probably only a couple of years younger than him.

Satisfied, he reached forward—movements deliberate, it wouldn’t do to startle the kid—and put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him a half-step further in. The same to his other shoulder. Then he pushed down.

Two seconds of slowly increasing pressure before the Scout caught on, dropping to his knees. He bristled a little bit. “Hey, what the hell makes you think I’m gonna blow you and not get nothin’ for it?” he asked, a little fiercely.

“The fact that you followed me out here,” Sniper replied. He carded his hand through the longer hair on the top of the Scout’s head—maybe a bit longer than uniform regulations would usually allow—and fisted a handful, tilting his head back a bit. “And who knows, you do a good job and maybe we can work somethin’ out.”

“How fuckin’ desperate do you think I am, that I’d suck a dick in an alley just to _maybe_ get a chance with a guy?” he asked next, still sharply.

“Desperate enough to give up on a match just to hunt me down and crack my skull in for some wank material like a brat.”

The Scout flushed straight up to his ears, and sighed hard, but started getting Sniper’s belt open. “You better fuckin’ warn me if you hear someone comin’,” he mumbled, and Sniper agreed without argument, and then his pants were open and pushed down partway down his thighs.

The Scout ogled him idly, shifting on his knees to find a good height and gingerly taking hold of him in a way that suggested he’d done this before. Maybe not sucking of a bloke that he was paid to kill in an alleyway where he might get walked in on at any moment, but oral in general he seemed to be familiar with.

Toying with the edge of Sniper’s foreskin, coaxing pleasure from him until he started hardening in earnest, and finally teasing his tongue in against the head in precise little throbs, and yeah, he’d definitely done this before.

He let his hand loosen and pet gently at the Scout’s head, his free hand just holding his pants in place and keeping them from falling down on him. The Scout, meanwhile, braced one hand around the base to hold him steady, other hand against his inner thigh, slightly colder than his skin and making him shiver involuntarily when combined with the tricks he was doing with his tongue.

He was a tease, Sniper was starting to find out. Little feather-light licks all across the shaft, sealing lips momentarily around the head only to suck in the lightest little pulses, one moment leaning forward and taking him well into his throat, his nose pressing against his pelvic mound, the next pulling off entirely to deliver barely-there kitten licks against that lovely place just below the head that made his hips jitter.

Then he brought up his hand, freshly warmed against Sniper’s thighs, to toy with his balls, and he felt himself reaching his limit.

“Planning on dragging this out all night?” he asked, tone breathy but frustrated. “Someone could walk by any moment now, you know. Better hurry this up.”

“Or else what, you fuckin’ BLU, are you gonna make me?” the Scout asked, pulling off in a smooth, fluid motion to ask it, and for a moment Sniper almost bristled. Then he looked down, saw the Scout’s pupils were blown wide, his face flushed, his hair mussed where Sniper had grabbed at it, grinning like a madman, and it clicked.

“Or else I’ll bugger your throat,” he growled, half a threat as he fisted his hands in that ridiculous haircut, and the Scout grinned.

“Warn me when you’re about to pop, aight?” the kid asked, a bit seriously, and Sniper didn’t give him the luxury of a response to that before pushing into his mouth.

The kid braced hands against his thighs, working his tongue in downright sinful patterns as Sniper thrust into his mouth, over and over. He tested the kid’s limits, and couldn’t seem to find any, watching his eyelids flutter and feeling soft moans rolling through him as he fucked his mouth.

He did end up warning him, growling out a full sentence for it, and the kid called back with a hearty groan, and then he slowed his thrusts, spilling in a mesmerizing beat against his tongue. The kid quickly took hold of his shaft again, lips sealed tight just under the head, tongue teasing fiercely at that real good little place below the slit and drawing out an additional pulse or two that he hadn’t known he could give. When Sniper was finally done, sinking against the brick and panting hard, the kid finally pulled off, leaning to one side and spitting his mouthful onto the ground below.

Then he looked back up, flushed and a little desperate. Sniper just pet a hand through his hair, straightening it back out as he did his pants back up, and pulled him to his feet.

“You pay your tab?” he asked, throat a little rough.

“Yeah,” the Scout nodded.

He hummed. “There’s a motel near the edge of town. They don’t ask many questions there,” he said.

“My car or yours?” the Scout asked, helping him with his belt and then letting his hands drift along his lower stomach.

“Both. Then no need to come pick up a car in the morning.”

The Scout nodded at that, looking pleased, even as he tried to hide it. “And… and maybe next weekend too?” he asked hopefully.

Sniper thought about it. “We’ll see,” he said, but smiled, and then the Scout was beaming.


	26. Sniper/Scout, Sorry Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Babe?” Scout ventured quietly. Sniper didn’t respond. “Babe, are you still mad at me?”

“Yes, I’m still mad at you.”

“It was just an accident, okay? I didn’t mean to—“

“Embarrass me in front of everyone? Confirm that we’re dating to the whole team? Make me look like some sort of—of sap?” Sniper scrubbed his hand down over his face, putting down the newspaper he’d been half hiding behind, feeling embarrassment wash through him despite himself. “Half of them are _still_ teasing me about it. They’ll never take me seriously again.”

“Look, it’s not even a big deal, all I—“

“You started calling me babe in front of the blokes,” Sniper deadpanned, “and then panicked, and then corrected, to call me, oh, what was it?”

Scout sulked a little. “Sweetheart,” he murmured.

“ _Sweet’eart_. Do you understand why I’m not happy with you?”

“Look, you want me to say sorry again? Because I will.”

“I think I’ve a right to keep being angry with you for a while.”

“Until when?” Scout asked, incredulous.

“Until the blokes stop pokin’ fun.”

“That’ll take _forever_ , though!” Scout protested.

“Damn shame, that is,” Sniper replied flatly, putting his newspaper back up.

Scout kept at it, trying to get Sniper’s attention, trying to get him to stop being mad. Pestered him over breakfast, eventually started making it for him as well. Tried to talk to him between matches. Hung out and idly suggested things they could do after work. And they still shared a bed, but now instead of cradling Scout against his chest, he just turned to face the wall.

Scout sulked over it for about two days before he shifted to a new tactic.

They were both ready for bed—turning in much earlier since they didn’t exactly have any _activities_ to occupy them. Scout stepped out of the bathroom after a much longer turn than usual. Sniper was already facing the wall, but laid with an alertness that suggested he was still awake. And Scout hopped into bed beside him, propped up on one arm to look at him. Yep, awake. Dropped back down onto his side after a moment.

Snaked arms around Sniper’s middle.

“Scout, I’m not in the mood for a cuddle,” Sniper deadpanned.

“Good thing I’m not lookin’ for a cuddle,” Scout hummed against the back of his neck. Silence from Sniper for a few seconds as Scout just traced a circle against his stomach with idle fingertips, only seeming to understand when those fingertips dipped below the waistband of his sleep pants and lips found the back of his neck.

“Scout, I’m still angry with you. Not tonight, or any other night until things are settled,” he said, sounding a little irritated.

Scout’s hands stilled, and he poured against Sniper’s shoulder. “Babe, I’m sorry. I keep sayin’ that I’m sorry,” he whined. “And I miss you. Please?”

“Should’ve thought about that,” Sniper said easily.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to.” He kissed at Sniper’s neck some more, and sulked a little. “C’mon, you’re really just gonna leave me hanging? After all the work I did?”

Sniper’s head tilted slightly. “Work you did?”

“Yeah.” Lips against the apex of his backbone. “Got myself all open and everything for you. Put in that plug you like so you don’t even gotta do any work.”

Sniper was given pause, looking back over his shoulder a bit further now. Silence. “The black one?”

“Mm-hmm.” Scout pressed the remote into Sniper’s hand gingerly, then returned to stroking down across his lower stomach, other hand rising to his shoulder and kneading at it. “I know what you like. C’mon, please babe?”

There were a long few moments of quiet. For a little while, nothing. Nothing at all.

Then a tiny little _click_ , and Scout released a breathy little moan against Sniper’s neck, letting his noises out just the way Sniper always like to hear, as the plug buzzed to life, stuck at the lowest setting but still very pleasant. “Fuck,” he breathed, nuzzling into the hair at the base of Sniper’s neck. “God, that’s good, babe.”

“Then what do you say?” Sniper asked idly.

A flush across his face. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Another click, a higher setting, another gasp. “Again,” he said.

“Thank you,” Scout repeated and swallowed hard, trying to resist the urge to roll his hips. “Thank you.”

Then suddenly Sniper was rolling over to face him, pushing him onto his back, straddling him. Another click, a higher setting. “Again,” he ordered.

“Thank you!” he managed, breath shaky.

Sniper ground down on him, pressing their groins together in rough motions, the pressure too much and not enough, even through two layers of fabric. Scout felt the inside of his boxers getting moist with precum, and it was embarrassingly quick before he felt himself tinting his breath quicker, moans higher and more desperate. A few days without Sniper touching him, barely looking at him, hardly interacting with him, meant that the sudden influx of attention left him almost breathless, head spinning, body electrified.

He begged for Sniper to at least get his boxers off when his arms were pinned down as he reached for himself, but Sniper ignored him, grinding down against him hard and unrelenting, switching the toy to a pulse setting that had him spilling in moments, moaning high in his chest, loudly enough that he was extremely glad they’d decided to sleep in Sniper’s van more often than not.

The toy and the merciless rhythm of Sniper’s hips wrung him out more than usual, and then he was finished, and the grinding was suddenly far too much, the slickness in his boxers downright uncomfortable, and then he was begging anew, saying no, fuck, wait, please, it was too much, it was far too much, please.

“What do you say?” Sniper prompted, and there was a click, and the toy didn’t stop vibrating, just shifting to a different rhythm. Scout keened at it.

“Thank you!” he cried, “thank you, but fuck, please!”

“Please what?” Sniper growled.

“Please, no more!” he managed, writhing, fighting the hand on his wrists uselessly.

“You like it,” Sniper practically snarled, and Scout moaned out that no, it was too much, and Sniper snapped again. “What color do you say to stop?”

Scout practically sobbed. “Red,” he admitted.

“And what are we?”

He really did sob. “Green,” he whimpered.

“That’s what I thought.” And he was back in with a vengance, even as Scout’s cries increased in volume and desperation. “Whore like you, can’t go a few days without getting buggered ‘till your eyes cross. Tryin’ to stuff yourself full of a toy and beg for it, you need it so bad. Ought to chain you up here and leave you like this, teach you a damn lesson.”

The discomfort was turning to pleasure, radiating, full-body pleasure, and he was suddenly writhing for a different reason altogether, falling back into choked moans.

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Sniper asked, and pulled Scout’s boxers down, and Scout’s face was bright red as he suddenly was faced with the sight of himself hardening again, even slick with his own cum. “What a slut, hardly even a few minutes and you’re ready to beg again.”

Then Sniper was shucking his own boxers down, and rutting against him, and the heat and slide of it all was overwhelming all of a sudden. “Fuck, please! Please!” Scout begged, half a sob. “Fuck me, please!”

“No,” Sniper growled, and Scout whimpered, head rolling back. “Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson all on its own.”

Scout was reduced to stammering and gibbering uselessly, and he came a second time, this time all across his own stomach, admittedly in a much smaller load than before. Sniper rutted through it, and finally turned the toy off, and finished a moment or two later, twitching against him and spilling across Scout’s abdomen practically up to his sternum.

And then Sniper panted for a minute down at him. Released his wrists.

Scout laughed a little. “This mean you’re done being mad at me?” he asked.

Sniper pulled Scout’s boxers back into place and wiped his meager mess off on them, then patted Scout on the flank. “No,” he said, and then deposited the remote on Scout’s forehead, and rolled back over to face the wall, leaving him in a messy, well-fucked heap to sort himself out.


	27. Engineer/Spy, Old Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for discussion of past amputation, past surgery, and past severe injury, as well as some insecurity over prosthetics)

He felt a burning sort of tingle on his back, and he looked up, turned, and caught Spy’s gaze on him. Surprising that he’d catch Spy staring—more surprising was that he didn’t stop, despite clearly being caught.

The Engineer tried to figure out where he was looking, but the answer was fairly obvious. He was looking at the Engineer’s arm. Rather, he was looking at the place where his arm ceased to be.

The Engineer flushed and quickly set about putting on the Gunslinger and glove.

That was the issue with most of the outpost bases—at the main base in New Mexico, he had his full workshop, a storage space within repurposed as his own room, an area there that he tended to use for a shower so he wouldn’t need to deal with any of the hustle and bustle of the locker rooms beyond hosing off his shoes so he didn’t track into the base. Plenty of privacy and space.

But up in Snowplow? Not so much.

The singular set of showers was the worst part, in his opinion. Three shower stalls total, and two toilets, and three sinks to shave at. He tended to shower in the evenings, so he only usually needed to deal with Heavy, Spy, and occasionally Pyro, as opposed to the chaos that happened in the mornings with everyone else, and generally Sniper had to shave twice daily if he wanted to maintain a clean face, but it was still a bit close for comfort at times.

Not much privacy.

The team all knew about the Gunslinger by then, had all seen it. Everyone—even Scout—was just polite enough not to ask about it, other than a surprised reaction each of their first times seeing it. The Medic asked a few questions during his mandatory physical, but they were all entirely professional—“Is the artificial limb removable,” “What is the standard regiment of care for the site of amputation,” “Are there prepared replacements in the event of prosthetic malfunction,” “Can the replacement limb be exposed to water and other such environmental factors,”—things of that nature, entirely reasonable questions for his primary care physician to be asking. And then exactly one non-professional question, his asking if the limb was capable of strength more than that of the average human, and the Engineer nodded, and he seemed pleased, even if he didn’t press the matter any further.

Largely, he kept it private. But then suddenly he had to shower with everyone else, and he couldn’t let the Gunslinger get too wet, so he had to take it off and leave it outside of the stall. And then as he was drying off enough to put it back on his arm, Spy was looking at his lack of arm, very openly and obviously.

Thinking back on it later, hunched over the meager desk he had available in their minuscule base, he decided Spy didn’t exactly look disgusted or horrified by the lack of a limb. And he didn’t look, even worse, _pitying_ over it. He just… looked. Observed. Took note, maybe. And when he’d looked back up at the Engineer and met eyes with him, he didn’t seem guilty or smug, it was just… recognition. It was just the sort of look to say, “Yes, I was looking at you. Yes, I know you saw me. And there’s really nothing wrong with either of those things. Do you disagree?”

He did, a little.

It was maybe coincidental that over the course of what eventually turned into a camaraderie, and then a true friendship, and then a romantic relationship, the first time they fell into bed together was when they’d once again rotated back around to being stationed at Snowplow. They kept their voices low, aware of the thin walls, rooms pressed close together, the threat of being heard very present. And the Spy slowly stripped off several items of his own clothes, one by one, exchanging long, slow kisses in between, and had only freed the Engineer of his goggles and hat before his fingers fell to dwell at the edge of his rubber glove questioningly.

The Engineer allowed himself a sigh before he pulled the glove off, revealing his robotic arm to the meager light, sunset drifting through the boarded windows of the room and striking light across exposed skin like stationary flashes of lightning, harsh and surprising even in longevity.

The Spy moved to line up his own gloves fingertips with that of the hand’s, finding the task a little difficult due to the slightly odd offset of them. The Engineer waited impatiently for words, for something, and ended up breaking first when none came. “Aren’t you going to ask me how it happened? Where my arm went? How I built this?” he prompted, tone gentle, words defeated.

The Spy tilted his head back up to regard him, and a beam of light crested just across his bottommost eyelashes. “Would you like me to, Dell?” he asked gently.

No, was the answer to that question, but that was irrelevant. “Don’t you want to know?” he asked instead of answering.

The Spy tilted his head very slightly, and the light moved to only catch against his cheekbone. “Ah. But there is a very distinct difference between what I want to know and what I _must_ know, _mon cher_ ,” he said easily. “I _want_ to know everything, everything that there is to know, everything in the world. But I do not need to. _Non_ , I think the only thing I need to know…”

Hesitation, gently threading his fingers into the prosthetic’s.

“Will this ever hurt me?” he asked, and looked back up at the Engineer.

“Only if I want it to,” the Engineer said, and squeezed very gently to demonstrate. “So never.”

Spy smiled a little at that, and the motion in his face adjusted his cheek just so, until at once the light could touch his eyelashes and cheek both at once, and Lord, but it was gorgeous. “Never is a very considerable promise, _mon beau_ ,” he warned.

“I know,” the Engineer said, and it was enough, at least for then. And he never did get around to taking off his socks, and the Spy only stripped as far as his bottoms, pulling them some of the way down his legs, leaving on socks and garters and gloves and mask and undershirt alike as fervor overtook them both.

It was later, days later, that more discussion happened.

“It doesn’t make you nervous?” the Engineer asked, watching Spy once again idly trying to line up his hand with the false one as they laid together, Spy having coaxed him into resting for some part of the middle of their day off.

Spy hummed in question, looking up at him for but a moment.

“This thing,” he said, demonstrating with a roll of his fingers. “It doesn’t… put you off?”

“Not particularly,” Spy shrugged. “At most, I am occasionally startled by the texture of the glove when I forget which side it is on, or the sudden coolness of it. But I suppose you tolerate my own cold feet, so… _assez juste_.”

“Not just the feeling of it, the… the _being_ of it.”

Spy tilted his head a little. “You are worried I do not… like it?” he asked, seeming a little confused.

“More that it… makes you nervous.”

A little laugh. “Dell, just because I cannot immediately see it, that does not mean it disappears entirely from my memory. We have been stationed together for years, now. Surely if it was something that bothered me—which is never has—I might have said something?”

He flushed. “Well… why wouldn’t it make you nervous? I’ve got my goddamn arm lobbed off, Spy, that’s… turned folks away before.”

Spy raised an eyebrow. “You think that amputation—or perhaps prosthesis—makes one undesirable?” he asked.

“A little bit,” he admitted.

“Well, count me surprised to learn you find me so hideous.”

Engie frowned. “What?”

Spy sighed, moving to tug off his gloves in two smooth motions, then promptly holding his hands out, palms-up, to see.

The pinkie finger of both hands, the last knuckle onward of his left ring finger, and the entirety of his right middle finger all shone an entirely different color and texture than the rest of his hands, visibly not made of flesh, but instead artificial.

“As they often do, the last finger of each hand simply follows the fourth,” he said, demonstrating by curling and uncurling the fingers in question. “To curl my center finger, I push down some of the way with the pointer and finish curling with my thumb. See? A few years of practice, and I hardly ever even needed to think about it. These are replacements and work roughly as well as organic—I got them during a short trip to Australia shortly after I signed on with Mann Co. as a mercenary—but still, I do things this way by habit. And luckily, since then I also have once again trained myself in piano.”

Engie was at a loss for words. “How many years have they been gone?”

Some quick mental math. “By now… hmm. I spent six without prosthetics, then perhaps twelve with standard, then ten until now with upgrades.”

Almost thirty years. The Engineer was shocked.

“And that’s not to speak of that which has been replaced in reconstructive surgery,” he said, tone still calm and casual, starting to point at his own face. “I lost the majority of my nose, and much of my right ear. The entire shell of my ear and all parts below the bridge of my nose were reconstructed.”

“Why? When?”

“Almost immediately following the accidents causing them.” The Spy tugged lightly on his mask, readjusting it absentmindedly. “It is very easy to identify and pick from a police lineup the man without an ear or a nose. Unless they took me for an undead Van Gogh, I would be entirely out of luck.”

“You’ve got red hair under there?” Engie asked, trying for a joke.

“I’ve had many different hair colors,” he said, turning his nose up a bit, and the Engineer laughed a little. “Regardless, these things happen. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

A hesitation. “What if… what if the changes are more… intentional? And not caused by an accident?” he asked gently.

Spy arched an eyebrow. “A sort of… extreme form of body modification?” he asked. “That would not be terribly shocking either.”

“What do you mean?”

A little laugh. “Dell, you have seen me naked. Surely you have noticed my tattoos.”

His head was spinning. “What?”

Spy hummed, sitting up, moving now to unbutton his dress shirt and pull himself free of the undershirt beneath. “I suppose I _was_ facing you the whole time, and my legs were largely unexposed,” he said, even as he struggled a bit with the fabric. Then he was turning to face away from the Engineer, squaring his shoulders, and he leaned in, surprised.

Some were symbols and markings, no doubt earned from stints infiltrating prison gangs, or perhaps as proofs for insurgents. But others were clearly decorative—roses, phrases, patterns. He didn’t quite get a proper look at them all before Spy was standing, pulling himself free of his pants, and moving fabric aside to show the further decoration on one hip, and up the other thigh. Large, intricate tattoos, weaving and twisting. And across several of those tattoos, scars, and along several of the scars tattoos, the scars not so much ruining several of them as becoming further decoration, further artistry.

“I also have a black spot etched into the bottom of my foot,” he said, lying back down with the Engineer gracefully. “But I choose not to count that one, as it was put there against my will. Forgive me for not stopping to show you that one, I’m sure the sight of my bare ankles would be absolutely scandalous.”

“Might just faint,” Engineer agreed sagely.

“Of course,” Spy agreed, laughing a little. He reached a hand up to stroke across the Engineer’s cheek, and he wondered how he’d never noticed before, the shift in firmness between his flesh fingers and the other ones—mostly wooden, by the feeling of them. Maybe the leather gloves were padded. He wasn’t sure. “Dell, what I am saying is that you do not frighten me. Not your body, at least—I would have to be an idiot to be left unintimidated by your intelligence.”

“You’re intimidated by my intelligence?” he asked, earnestly a little surprised.

“Hm. Some amount intimidated,” he agreed, and then he was up, straddling the Engineer, hands pressing into either shoulder. “The rest, aroused, but I have not entirely made up my mind on it yet.”

“Could be more,” he decided, hands finding Spy’s hips, eyes drifting over where Spy hadn’t yet risen to full hardness in his undershorts.

“So I could,” Spy agreed. “But instead, I think you have deserved a night of attention, _mon beau_.”

“How’d I earn that?” he asked, stroking his flesh palm up across Spy’s chest.

“I’m sure I could make any number of excuses, but to be entirely truthful, I just very much want it to happen.” He squeezed the Engineer’s shoulders. “Indulge me?”

“Go ahead,” he agreed.

He expected kissing, and perhaps a lengthy session of stroking, being teased to the edge at a languid pace and held there for some time until Spy finally pushed him over it again.

He didn’t expect downright oral worship.

Spy stripped him bare, taking the time to lay kisses in the wake of his hands, moving so slowly that it might have been unbearable if the Engineer was a little younger, a little more wound up. As it was, it was soothing, like some kind of ticklish massage.

Spy paused at one point, glancing up at him when he shivered and shifted slightly. He took note of the goosebumps rising on his arms, and gave a parting kiss to his navel before standing and looking around briefly.

He returned to bed with a large, thick blanket, and draped it around his own shoulders as he laid down, then took the care to lay it out over the both of them, tugging and tucking as needed. The shift of his bare thighs against the Engineer’s as he kept adjusting surely wasn’t intended to be so sensual, but he found it sending a ticklish feeling up through his body, something like butterflies, but they didn’t linger in his stomach. Instead they prompted him to reach up and stroke a hand over the Spy’s chest again. But then Spy was taking that hand and pushing it to lie up next to his head, leaned over him with a little grin.

“I believe I already said this night is about you, _mon chou-chou_ , he purred. “Surely you don’t want to inturrupt it?”

“Just feel a bit strange, just… lyin’ here and all,” he admitted, shifting a little.

Spy hummed, considered that. Then he was bracing elbows on either side of the Engineer’s head, moving to nuzzle along the pit of his neck and press teasing kisses at either pulse point. “Dell, if your concern is with reciprocation, I can assure you that I am _very_ much going to enjoy this,” he purred, breath warm and soothing against his skin, and his goosebumps were no longer from the chill of the room.

It took him a little while to understand the game Spy was playing. He pressed further kisses and feather-light scrapes of teeth and kitten-licks in gentle lines and patterns starting at the wrist of his flesh-and-blood hand, taking the time to move up and pay special attention to each fingertip and knuckle. Then he was moving down along his arm, pausing for long moments in seemingly random places.

He paused for a long moment at the Engineer’s elbow, and it was an odd enough choice that he finally pieced it together, pulse jumping.

What had to be in common between his hands, those random spots along his arms, his elbow? Scars.

The majority of scars on his hands were from mistakes when building, an unavoidable part of often working with power tools and machinery. His fingertips were scarred enough in some places that he largely didn’t have feeling in them anymore. Then along his arms, one place where he’d been bit by a dog years ago, and from mishaps that had happened when cooking with oil and grease, stray splatters that left little blotchy patches, especially visible given the distinct lack of hair that coated much of the rest of his arm.

He knew he was a fuzzy man. He was aware. It was just made all the more obvious, he thought, by the way hair tended not to grow over old scar tissue and marks, leaving them patchy, further drawing the eye.

Usually he would probably feel self-conscious, noticing such a thing, but Spy had moved along up his arm, still kissing at him as tenderly as if he was worried about reopening decades-old wounds, and he couldn’t find it in him to want to squirm away.

Reaching his shoulder, Spy laid a simple kiss to the apex, and looked over at him, and as of reading his mind, he murmured a simple “Handsome.”

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled, covering his own face with his hand, flushing, very much wishing he had his goggles on just then to help hide his expression a little.

Spy just laughed, not a mocking thing, not _at_ him, more just… a wordless vocalization of how much he was enjoying himself, making the Engineer flush and fluster.

Then he dipped down and started lying kisses over the Engineer’s abdomen below his ribs.

It had been years since he got his appendix out, but the scars were still there—a few little ones, maybe an inch or so wide. And Spy paid gentle attentions to them, drawing his tongue flat against them then kissing so very gently, more a brush and press of lips than anything else. Then a pause, and he was dragging teeth gingerly over a larger web of scars marring the space there at the bottom of his ribcage to one side, the site of an accident that had required extensive surgery.

Then he moved up, paying some minute attention to either nipple—not for terribly long, the Engineer’s wasn’t particularly sensitive in that way—and then a gentle kiss just to his sternum before moving up further and concentrating for a few moments at his right shoulder.

He was concentrating on the two faded bullet wounds he had there, fingertips drifting around to brush against the exit wounds lightly enough that at first he thought it was his imagination.

“One of these days, you should tell me the stories you have behind these,” Spy suggested, glancing up at him briefly.

“Maybe if you tell me about yours,” the Engineer’s replied, smiling.

Spy snorted. “I’ll need to look into the status of several non-disclosure agreements and set aside a few days, but that’s fine by me,” he agreed, and kissed each scar again.

Then he was moving down along his right arm, and his breath caught.

Spy looked up at him briefly, gauging his expression, clearly trying to get a read on whether the Engineer was going to allow him to do this next part. Then, still maintaining eye contact, he slowly lowered his head to plant a brief kiss at the line between where flesh first connected with metal.

The Engineer swallowed hard. Spy looked at him. His expression had shifted away from playfulness at some point, and was a little more hollow, a little more serious.

he lowered his head again and pressed kisses all around the base of the Gunslinger, not quite rapid-fire, but certainly a departure from how slowly they’d been moving for the rest of the time. Then he looked up at the Engineer, hand squeezing around the wrist of his mechanical arm firmly.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he said, tone entirely certain. “You are a handsome, intelligent, and _very_ strong man who made a choice for himself, and there is nothing—nothing at all—wrong with that. Do you understand me?”

The Engineer’s throat was growing tight. He couldn’t seem to find words.

Spy noticed, and moved to straddle him again, sitting up to look him straight in the eye. The blanket slid, falling to drape at his waist, and his expression was stern. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that this would upset me—if that is my own doing, I apologize, I’ll apologize as many times as I need to if it means putting you at ease. But I love you, and that means loving _all_ of you, natural-born or otherwise.”

The Engineer sat up on one elbow, eyes gone wide. His mouth hung uselessly for a few moments before he forced his voice out, dry and uneven. “You love me?” he asked, the shame he felt at his voice cracking taking a backseat to the absolute wonder flooding into his chest.

“Of course. Surely it is not that much of a surprise,” Spy said, voice falling to teasing for a moment, hand tracing up through the hair on the Engineer’s chest idly.

His mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to figure out a response.

Another snort of amusement, this time at his plight. “I understand if you aren’t ready to say it back,” he assured evenly. “I would not expect you to. I just wanted to make it clear that this goes beyond simply physical desire, or simply filling some void of loneliness. Besides your being _very_ handsome,” he purred, and the Engineer laughed a little, “you are also very important to me. Irreplaceable. And I wanted you to know that, and hopefully it will put some part of your mind at ease.”

His face felt hot as he stared up at Spy.

Actually, everything felt hot. He hadn’t noticed—how hadn’t he noticed?—but somewhere along the line of Spy kissing and licking and nipping across his skin, and petting at his chest, he’d gotten hard.

Maybe there were words in the middle, but it felt like a near-immediate transition then, from Spy looking down at him to the Engineer seizing him by the hips and starting to roll up against him demandingly, made aware of the small desperation that had bubbled to the surface of his mind.

Spy managed to wriggle free of his undershorts at least, and spat into his hand to get the both of them slick, and then he was doing the majority of the motion, given that each time the Engineer tried to rock up into his grip he mostly just threatened to unbalance him. And once he had the reins, the rolls and bucks of his hips, sliding them together in languid motions, it was borderline artful, a mastery that had the Engineer’s head falling back within moments, simply gripping down near Spy’s knees and holding on for dear life.

He leaned up on his elbow and helped support Spy’s weight when he suddenly bent forward and kissed him, solidly, with heat and hunger that almost caught the Engineer by surprise. Kissing him, trying his best to keep up with the way Spy was sending his head spinning, it was easy to hear the transition from panting to gasping to allowing a small near-whimper on each exhale between them. Spy’s eyes were hazy when they pulled back for air, and he mouthed a kiss to the Engineer’s cheek as if unable to help himself, panting hot and damp against his skin.

He was fairly sure that a Spy finished first, choking down moans and simply gasping out his name over and over again, scorching at his cheek and deep in his gut—“Oh, Dell, Dell, _s’il v-vous, pl… s’il vous plait_ ,”, something he was fairly certain would be making an appearance in every wet dream he ever had for the rest of his life—but he followed quickly after, groaning his defeat, as quiet as he could keep himself, horribly mindful of the thin walls. Although, admittedly, the thought of being heard sent some minor thrill through him. Something to be explored later, maybe.

The blanket had fallen free of the two of them at some point, down near Spy’s toes, heavy on the Engineer’s shins. Spy was panting hard against his collarbone, pausing only when he swallowed hard, and once his breath was sufficiently back, he was pressing all sorts of gentle little kisses up the vein of his neck, murmuring endearments that were either exclusively in French or perhaps too mumbled for him to understand.

“Really oughtn’t surprise me that you get cuddly, after,” the Engineer teased.

“It has been quite some time since I’ve had the opportunity to lie in bed with a strong, handsome man. Indulge me,” Spy said petulantly, and then he was shifting, his chest nearly at the Engineer’s eye level as he reached to try and fish out a cigarette. The Engineer leaned up to press a kiss to his sternum, and Spy didn’t startle so much as allow some of the looseness of his limbs to fall away, becoming slightly more alert. He huffed a laugh, and then he was cuddled in at the Engineer’s side, nosing into his shoulder.

He put his arm around the Spy on instinct, and belatedly realized it was his metal arm. “Don’t you wanna move over to the other—“ he started to hesitantly ask.

“ _Non_ ,” Spy cut in, and leaned up to press a cheeky kiss right on the tip of his nose. “Not at all.”


	28. Sniper/Scout, Tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Shouldn’t we put more, uh, wood on that or something?” Scout asked, plopping down next to Sniper and staring into the fire, having changed into his pajamas.

“Nah. Ought to put it out soon anyways, take care not to start a fire. Why, are you cold?” he asked, looking over at Scout with worry furrowing his eyebrows.

“A little,” Scout admitted, hugging around his knees. “I‘ll be fine when we get to bed, though.”

“Forgot to break the news about that, s’well,” Sniper said solemnly, leveling a look at Scout. “I’m afraid we’ve made a mistake, love.”

“Huh?” Scout asked, frowning now.

Sniper tsk’d. “Only gone and packed one sleeping bag,” he said seriously, slid an arm in around Scout’s waist, mouth ticking up at one corner a bit as he failed to keep it together through the punchline. “Suppose we’ll have no choice but to share.”

“You’re such a freakin’ dork, Snipes,” Scout laughed, nudging him teasingly before settling in against his side. “I dunno. Kinda nice just sittin’ out here, though. Kinda feels like I could just keep pokin’ the fire all night. You ever have a campfire and just kinda go, man, maybe Mumbles has a point, this kicks ass.”

“Mm,” Sniper agreed. “Maybe you can come out on walkabout with me more often from now on?”

“Yeah, sure. Just as long as we don’t, like… I dunno. Have a snake show up in our sleeping bag.” Scout pressed his chilly nose in against Sniper’s neck. “Hey, if I got bit by a big poisonous snake or somethin’, would you do the thing in the movie where you sucked the venom out?”

“Firsts off, venomous, not poisonous, although it’d probably be both,” Sniper said, shaking his head a little at Scout’s antics. “Second, no, because that’s just a movie thing, love. That doesn’t work in real life. I do have some anti-venoms on hand when I go camping out down this way, though, if you manage to see what sort of snake it is. Will you believe anything you see on the telly?”

“Nah, I just… shuttup,” he mumbled, and Sniper chuckled again.

“Bed?” he suggested.

“Bed,” Scout agreed.

Sniper put out the fire, and by the time he got into the tent with Scout, he was already setting up where they’d be sleeping.

“You fuckin’ liar, we do too have two sleeping bags,” he said, the first already unzipped and laid out on the ground, fighting with the zipper on the second to use it as a blanket.

“Three, technically, in case one of the first gets damaged or it… gets extra cold, or the ground’s hard, anythin’,” Sniper replied, zipping the door closed securely behind them. “I think she’ll be right, though.”

“I’m serious though, if there’s a snake or whatever we’re just—“ Scout finally got the bag unzipped and laid down, pulling it over himself as a blanket. “—we’re just gonna drive straight back to civilization and stay in one’a those fancy future hotels back in wherever the fuck.”

“It’s not a future hotel, it’s a regular hotel,” Sniper said, quickly and efficiently shucking down to his boxers and lying down with him. “You lot are living in the past, far as Australia’s concerned. And we’ll be in a hotel towards the end of our trip regardless.”

“Cool. I wanna see future hotels,” Scout said firmly. “And to sleep in a real big bed, and you guys have those massive TVs over here, right? With the billion channels that suck as much as all the channels we’ve already got? I wanna sleep in a room like that.”

“Honeymoon sweet?” Sniper teased.

“Why, are you marryin’ me, Mickey Mundy?” Scout teased right back, rolling in towards him and moving to straddle his hips, propped up over him, barely visible in the dimness of the tent except where his tags and his eyes and his teeth shone.

“Might think about it,” he teased right back, tracing circles into his hips, thumbs dipping below his waistband. “You wanna be Jeremy Mundy?”

Scout shifted into the touch, clearly pleased, even as he rolled his eyes. “Like I’d take your last name and you wouldn’t take mine,” he scoffed.

Sniper laughed right back. “Oh, is that how it is?”

“Or, hey, technically we could just both get a new cool last name,” he suggested. “How about, uh… Mickey and Jeremy, uh… Coolmen.”

Another laugh. “Coolmen?”

“Mickey and Jeremy Greatguys. Mickey and Jeremy Not-A-Killer. Mickey and Jeremy Law-Abiding-Citizens.”

“Can you hyphenate a name like that?”

“I dunno,” Scout admitted, laughing a little himself. “Uh… Mickey and Jeremy Jones, then we lie and say we’re related to Tom Jones and write a book and make a billion dollars.” He grinned as Sniper laughed hard enough to shift how he was sat, and spoke again when he settled down a little. “Hey, what if we just switch? Just trade?”

“Love, this is a lot of talk about getting married considering nobody’s gone and proposed, and you’ve never met my parents, and I’ve only even met your mum once over dinner when we stopped over in Boston on a connecting flight,” he pointed out.

Scout ducked his head a little, fiddling with Sniper’s chest hair idly. “So it’s not off the table?” he asked quietly.

Sniper fought down a dopey grin. “If my dad only despises you the regular amount that he despises everyone, we’ll think about it. Since we’ve only got one dad between us and someone needs to be walked down the aisle,” he pointed out.

Scout nodded at that, seemed distracted. Then he was leaning down, nuzzling in against Sniper’s shoulder. “I love you,” he mumbled, still as embarrassed to say it so seriously the thousandth time as he’d been the first.

“Love you too,” Sniper replied softly, turned his head to place a kiss against Scout’s hair.

Quiet for a few moments, stillness except for their breathing, silence but for the sound of Scout gently kissing at Sniper’s bare shoulder and nature, out beyond the walls of the tent.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” Scout seemed to decide, hands drawing down along his bare arms to emphasize.

Sniper smiled a little at his fretting, and moved to push Scout’s shoulders up, following him into a sitting position so he could better reach Scout’s ear. He leaned in to murmur into it. “Then keep me warm,” he said simply, arms curling in around Scout’s waist to gather him close, and Scout’s breath hitched so very slightly, and then Scout kissed him.

The first time the two of them had sex, it was practically a frantic thing. Sniper hadn’t taken a partner in years, and Scout hadn’t slept with anyone in months, so they were both a bit pent up in that department. And besides that, confessions had been rushed and fearful, and the adrenaline and relief made a dangerous cocktail that had both of them pushing and pulling and kissing and biting and giving and trying to wring sounds of pleasure out of each other as much as they could, each convinced that the other would wake up and realize the mistake they were making at any moment.

The franticness was gone, so long later, months and years later, and was replaced by steadiness, familiarity. More than anything else, love.

Sniper kissed his way along the familiar path of Scout’s freckles across his shoulders and chest, unable to see them in the darkness but remembering where they were anyways. He kneaded his thumbs over that little place just towards the inside and a little above Scout’s knee the way that he liked, and was rewarded with Scout gasping against him, arching and moving in a way that had a Sniper’s body growing hotter.

He knew Scout was ready when he moved to wipe his fingers off on Sniper’s boxers over his thigh, and he laughed a little at it. Their communication was wordless and flawless, Sniper giving him a simple push on one hip as a signal to turn around, and he did, Sniper shimmying out of his boxers in the interim.

He was careful in sliding on a condom and lubing himself up in the darkness, careful not to drip onto the sleeping bag, and then he was pulling Scout against himself, Scout’s back against his chest, and then Scout was sinking down with the help of powerful legs, and then they were moving.

It was a push and pull, a give and take, and their movements were slow and meandering, allowing themselves to just enjoy the pleasure, the gentleness of it. Sniper hummed against Scout’s shoulderblade, pleased with the heat, the pressure, and very much enjoying taking the scenic route.

Scout had one hand anchored against his own thigh and the other in his hair, knowing better than to touch himself and to rush this along. They’d both been pleased to find that they had a very nice time taking things slow like this, drawing out their need and desire until it left them both loose and sleepy with relaxation rather than exhaustion, warm and satisfied instead of just sweaty and messy. Although they certainly enjoyed the other way too, high-energy and fast and bone-deep satisfying, pushing to the limit just to hold there, letting their emotions get away from them following the adrenaline rush associated with their occupations.

They didn’t always have time for slow. Sniper loved when they did.

He loved Scout, every inch of him, inside and out, sometimes in multiple senses of the word.

He let his fingertips trace patterns across Scout’s abdomen, raising goosebumps on his skin in lovely contrast to the heat between their bodies. He traced along the line of his sternum, his pectorals, his ribcage (too defined, he’d say to Scout, brows furrowed as the smaller man stepped out of the shower, was he getting enough to eat, followed by Sniper laughing a little at himself and realizing he sounded like his mother). He found himself wanting to hear Scout making more noise, now that they were out in the middle of nowhere with nobody to hear them, and he momentarily drifted to tweak and play with one of Scout’s nipples, chuckling at the way his back arched away even as his body arched in closer.

The rhythm of them wasn’t much of anything steady at all, more their lingering together for as long as they could handle before getting lost in it. Long rolls and gentle rocks, mostly, Scout preferring to keep Sniper sheathed in deep, for the closeness or for the pleasure, Sniper didn’t know, didn’t know if it mattered.

There were no clocks around them, none visible at the very least, and to Sniper it felt like hours, hours of his hands tracing along familiar paths, hours of Scout gently rocking and himself trying to roll into his motions as best as he could manage when so distracted. He would’ve only been slightly surprised had the tent begun lightening with approaching sunrise, to find out that they’d spent all night together, enjoying each other’s company on such a primal level.

He found himself reaching the edge first, as he often did when they lingered this way. Scout reached back to tangle a hand in his hair encouragingly, starting into a more steady movement, and he spilled with a gasping sort of groan, some sort of nonsense spilling between his lips as he rocked a final few times, and then he was spent.

He drifted a hand down Scout’s stomach. “You ready to be done here, love?” he asked, voice weak and gravelly.

“Yeah,” Scout breathed, and choked a little as Sniper took hold of him.

He slipped out before Scout was finished, and was pleased at the sounds he made when he finally did, spilling into his hand with loving gibberish that had Sniper chuckling, sucking a mark into his shoulderblade to be found in the morning. Then he was mopping his hand off on what he was fairly sure was Scout’s shirt from the prior day, and tying off the condom to properly get rid of later, and then he was cuddled in against Scout, kissing across his sleepy face for as long as Scout would let him before grumbling that yes he loved Sniper too but also he wanted to go to sleep.

He allowed it for much longer than usual before turning away to bury his face in Sniper’s neck. And he expected to be teased and called a sap, to be told he could kiss Scout’s face as much as he wanted in the morning—after brushing his teeth—but Scout didn’t.

“I think I’d like being Jeremy Mundy,” he said instead, mumbly in his drowsiness.

And Sniper smiled. “I’d like it too,” he said, and Scout started snoring a moment later. He was worried a bit, not sure if he’d been heard, but hey. He’d have plenty of time to say it again later.


	29. Demo/Sniper/Scout, Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for alcoholism and mention of a situation of highly dubious consent that was not taken advantage of)

Demo’s head was pounding, and he blinked his eye open.

Alright. His own room. That was good. And he was clothed, in his pajamas, something very soft. And his mouth tasted absolutely terrible, and he had a splitting headache—not like migraines, like hangover. Not unusual. Maybe just worse than usual.

He was warm, maybe too warm, and seemed to be having a hard time pushing at his blankets. Weighty. He looked first to his right, and blinked when he saw a pair of dog tags a few inches from his nose—Scout was here, apparently—then craned his head to look to his left, and could just barely catch sight of Sniper, yawning, blinking awake.

He looked over, apparently noted that Demo was awake, and promptly reached to fumble on the bedside table, passing Demo a bottle of water first and foremost.

He took it gratefully, sitting up a bit while he drank so as not to drown himself, hoping to wash the bad taste from his mouth. Then he blinked down at Scout for a minute. Scout was in a cozy pair of pajamas, as was he, and even Sniper (who generally tried to sleep in the buff when he could get away with it) was in a sleep shirt and presumably pants. Despite feeling like absolute hell internally, he didn’t feel particularly disgusting.

“What’s…?” he tried to ask, even as his voice croaked, and he registered that his throat hurt.

Sniper nudged him back into lying down, taking the water bottle back gingerly, setting it down before he too laid down. Demo felt a little uncomfortable in the back of his mind at Sniper being in his blind spot, but he didn’t really have it in him to say anything, or to do anything about it.

“Me and the kid noticed you’ve been in a slump lately,” Sniper said softly. “I asked him to check up on you, see if you’d rather be around us for it, and he tracked you down and saw you’d nearly drank yourself to the floor. He pieced together that there was something wrong, bolted to go get me, brought me over, and we took care of you for the night.”

“Feel like utter shite,” Demo managed.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, as if he’d assumed. “You threw up, quite a lot. Cried. Kid couldn’t understand a word of it, but, I picked out pieces.”

His voice sounded sad, and that worried Demo, quite a lot.

He took a deep breath before continuing, yawned. “Scout managed to convince you to take a shower after all the mess that’d happened, got you in your pajamas and all, I brought some over for us two. He was worried we couldn’t leave you overnight, thought you’d… choke on your own throw-up, something like that. Told him we can’t die anyways, but… you know him. He worries.” A pause. “We both do.”

He felt queasy.

“We’re…” An inhale, an exhale, Sniper’s breath tickling at him. “We’re going to need to talk about it at some point. Not now, not while you’re still feeling like a buggering wreck and all. But at some point.”

“Do we, though?” Demo tried, tried to tint his voice with an amount of humor, a shot in the dark based on what he could hear of Sniper’s mood.

“You scared the absolute hell out of us, Tavish,” Sniper said, voice hushed, no humor, no joy, just terribly, terribly tired. A pause. “And we’re not… upset that this happens, that you have your off days. They happen, there’s only so much we can help that. But you scared the hell out of us because you didn’t say anything, didn’t try and… tell us, or ask for help, nothing. The only reason we knew something could be wrong was that Scout noticed you didn’t talk to Soldier very long yesterday after matches were up. That’s all we had to go on.”

Demo looked over at Scout, who was more often than not a light sleeper, and who hadn’t shifted even a little bit at their tossing and turning and talking, out like a light.

“We just… look, we’ll talk more about it later. And we aren’t angry. We’re just worried about you.”

Demo squeezed his eye shut.

“Just go back to sleep for now,” Sniper said quietly. “Headache?”

“Yeah,” Demo nodded.

“I’ll get somethin’ for that, be right back. Drink more water,” he directed, getting out of bed and putting the water bottle where he’d been.

Scout woke up before Sniper got back, shaken awake when Demo sat up to drink from the water bottle. “Hwhat?” he mumbled, blinking. “Hey. Hey, you’re up. Good mornin’. It’s morning?”

“It’s morning,” Demo assured, further ruffling his hair.

“Fuck.” Scout sat up as well, tucked himself into Demo’s side. And he was always a cuddler like that, always craved contact, but it was a bit much, even for him. “Hey, where’s Legs?”

“Went to get… headache medicine, I think,” Demo replied, took another drink, winced. “Told me I was a damn menace yesterday.”

“God, yeah,” Scout sighed. “What all’d he say?”

“A good bit,” Demo shrugged. “About the sick, and my throwing a wee bit of a tantrum.”

“Did he tell you about when you were getting pissed at me over the showering thing?” Scout asked, still having not come up for air from where he was cuddled into Demo’s shoulder and arm.

“Nae?”

“Goddamn, like… okay. Usually when we three get together it’s a thing we know about before it happens, and usually if we’re drinking we’re all drinking, but this time we were both just like—“

“Volume, doll,” Demo warned, wincing a little as his headache throbbed.

“Sorry,” Scout whispered. “Uh, but this time we were both stone cold sober and you just felt like total garbage, but then when you felt good enough that we could try and get you to take a shower without like, drowning, you started getting pissed off at us because you figured us not wanting to be all cuddly and kissy with you was our way of breaking up with you—like, seriously outta nowhere—and you kept insisting that you were totally fine and that you wanted to… first you were saying you wanted to blow Snipes, then I think you were asking me to do it? I dunno. But we kept saying no, because you were like _gone_ and that would be fucked up, and you got like _upset_ about it. But yeah. Kinda washed out your mouth and got even more annoyed and stuff, it was a nightmare.”

Demo felt guilt stabbing deep into his chest.

“Is that a thing you worry about a lot?” Scout asked gently. “That we’re gonna just, outta the blue break up with you?”

Demo didn’t know whether he should answer that honestly or not.

“We’re not gonna,” Scout said quietly, interpreting his silence. “Like, if anything isn’t that what we should be worried about? You’re the guy who’s wicked fuckin’ smart and can bench press me and is also just super nice to everyone, and real funny too. And sure, Snipes is hot and cool, and I’m a healthy young guy, but it’s like, c’mon. You’re way out of our league. We’re super lucky.”

“You’re gonna try and tell me, after that whole bloody nightmare I cannae damn well remember, there was no point of you wondering whether I’m worth the trouble, doll?”

Scout pulled back to level a look at him, all the more inescapable since he was directly in Demo’s line of sight. “Babe, remember that time I got all upset about shit because I thought you guys hated me because we had to cancel date night that one time and I forgot to get dinner and I was acting like the world was ending? Did you wanna break up with me over that?”

“No,” Demo admitted.

“Remember that time Snipes was talking about his shitty dad and growing up in Australia and getting all broken up about it because it sucked and he still isn’t over it? Did you wanna dump his ass on the curb over that?”

“No, but this is different.”

“It’s totally not though.”

“Damn it, Scout,” Sniper said, and Demo looked up and saw him closing the door behind him, a small box cradled in one arm. “Don’t have the conversation without me. And not while he’s hung over within an inch of his bloody life.”

“Had worse,” Demo defended, watching Sniper start fumbling his way through his little box.

While Medic was a well-trained certified medical genius, Sniper tended to take pride in his knowledge of home remedies. Demo was given simple mint and ginger candies for his nausea, honey to soothe his throat, and some sort of something to help speed up his hydration.

“Then this is just proper headache medicine,” Sniper said, shaking out two pills into his palm and offering them to Demo. “Take these with water, mind.”

“Can’t I wash it down with something stronger?” he asked.

“Stuff it, Tavish,” Sniper said sternly, and put the box aside, and once Demo had downed the medicine, he pulled him down back into bed, and Scout followed with no hesitation. “More rest, I think. Twenty minutes until the pills kick in, then you’ll be right as rain. And the kid needs sleep, besides.”

“Do not,” Scout protested around a yawn.

Demo didn’t argue, just letting the two of them hold him and trying not to feel guilty about it, even as he drifted back off.

-

He avoided the conversation as best he could. Mostly by distracting Scout, prompting him to continue whatever he was on about at any given point when the three of them were reasonably alone, knowing that as long as he wasn’t thinking about it he wouldn’t remember and Sniper wasn’t the type to cut him off to talk about more serious things. And on their usual date night, he showed up already well into tipsy, if still alert and comprehensible.

But then they cornered him, finding him in his workshop and plopping themselves down on either side of him at his bench and moving right into what they wanted with no time for him to redirect.

“Okay, so since you don’t wanna talk about the thing,” Scout started to say, and shushed him with a hand on his arm when he started to protest. “Nonono, no, listen, just hear me out. Since you don’t wanna talk about it, we don’t gotta talk about it. Not for real. But me and Snipes still have some stuff we want you to know.”

“So we won’t talk about it,” Sniper agreed, hand on his shoulder, gentle but weighty. “We really won’t. Could you just follow us, darl? Please?”

Demo was suspicious, but not suspicious enough to disagree with them, not when they were making it pretty clear that they were letting him off the hook. So he just gently asked them to wait a few minutes and wrapped up what he was doing and put things away, then stood to follow them.

They led him into Scout’s room, a place they didn’t tend to frequent, a bit more cluttered than Demo’s room and with a slightly smaller bed, and less private than the camper van. Sniper sat down at Scout’s bed and gestured for Demo to join him, and he did.

“So what have you gone and dragged my arse to a secondary location for, then?” Demo asked, raising an eyebrow at Scout, who was digging through his closet across the room.

“Well,” Sniper started in carefully. “Remember that time this little bugger was having an awful day and we coddled him over it?”

“We figured, hey, you’re not into having a whole talk about stuff. That’s fair. But we gotta let you know we love you, though. So,” Scout shrugged, and came back with a box, roughly as big as a shoebox. “We’re just gonna try and give you a real good night to take your mind off stuff and help you feel better and then maybe you’ll… I dunno. It made sense when me and Snipes talked about it.”

“The idea is that we love you and we need you to know that,” Sniper simplified.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t need—“ Demo started to say, flustered.

“It’s not about whether you _need_ it, Tavish, it’s about what you _want_ ,” Sniper sighed, stroking a hand down between his shoulder blades. “You’re allowed to want things. And what we want is to make you feel good, get your mind off things.”

“Please?” Scout asked, putting on his very best puppy-dog eyes for the effect. And damn it all, they almost never worked on Sniper, but they could convince Demo to do just about anything in a heartbeat.

“Fine, knock yourselves out,” he sighed, and moved to start stripping when Scout’s hands started nudging at his clothes insistently.

Soon he was just about bare, although he kept his eye patch on, as he tended to do, less out of embarrassment and more because the damn thing always got lost in the sheets. And Scout had stripped down to his own boxers and socks, and Sniper had at least stripped to his work pants, probably more for the sake of comfort than anything else.

Then Scout was pulling his arm, urging him into some position. He found himself on all fours above Scout, and the smaller man wrapped arms up over his shoulders and legs around his waist and kissed him full on the mouth with no small amount of enthusiasm.

Demo settled forward, already enjoying the way this was going, and was only idly surprised when he felt a pair of hands on his ass, parting exactly long enough to tilt his head up a bit.

“What’re you up to, Mundy?” he asked idly, like he didn’t have a flushed, athletic young man kissing across his well-bearded jaw and demanding his attention.

“Well, the gremlin’s been teasing me for a while about some toy he bought a month back and getting use out of when I’m “too grumpy to mess around”, see,” he quoted dryly, and Demo rolled his eye at the self-satisfied little grin Scout gave at that. “He gave me a spin on it, and it’s properly good. Thought it’s only fair you get to try it too. That awright?”

“Only if you promise not to enjoy the view too much,” Demo teased, wriggling enticingly before dipping back down to finally give Scout some more attention, chuckling at his enthusiasm.

He had to part for a moment to steady his breathing as Sniper started coaxing him open patiently on two fingers, and his brow furrowed a little bit as a familiar smell hit his nose. Like cinnamon, maybe, and why did he smell cinnamon—?

He gasped outright at the feeling of a mouth against him.

His thighs trembled a little, and he panted against Scout’s temple at the feeling of hands spreading him wide and a tongue setting to work, moving against him in patient, teasing throbs.

He’d honestly forgotten about the flavored lube. It hadn’t come up in a while.

“Feels good?” Scout asked gently, pulling back to look Demo in the eye, cupping his cheek. Demo nodded distractedly. “Good. We wanna make you feel good.”

“You do,” Demo managed, voice a little tight, jolting at a sudden press inward, _inward_ , before Sniper pulled back and set to flat-tongued lapping again.

“Well, we wanna make you feel extra good,” Scout said petulantly, kissing him just below his eyepatch, and when had Scout unhooked his other arm? At some point, apparently, because then Scout has a hand around his dick and was moving in nice, steady tugs against him.

It had taken Scout a while to get used to dealing with an uncut dick, but once he figured out the basics, he was a bloody master at it, drawing the pad of his thumb against sensitive points as he gave steady pulls, milking precum out of him so easily it was almost embarrassing, spreading it all across the head.

The two-pronged assault had him shivering and shaking in ecstatic spasms, trying to jerk his hips and finding it difficult to stop himself.

“Mickey, you filthy-minded lanky bastard, I’m not lasting into you using that toy you’re on about if you keep doin’ that,” he warned almost desperately, an embarrassing squeak escaping him as the thumb that he’d been circling against his perineum pressed just a bit harder in response.

“Then go on, Tavish,” Sniper replied, kissing breathlessly at his tailbone before he dived right back in. Scout meanwhile leaned up to nip at his bottom lip, coaxing it from between Demo’s teeth as he tried to muffle himself.

“C’mon, you’ve got two rounds in you,” Scout urged, rhythm increasing and for a moment unintentionally matching the rhythm Sniper’s tongue was moving in, and that was it for him, shuddering and groaning, mouthing praises against Scout’s neck insistently as the lad tugged him right through it.

He was distantly aware of Scout squeezing the last drops free of him and smearing them against his own thigh before releasing Demo and moving to just wrap arms up around his shoulders again. Sniper detached, kneading soothingly at his thighs as he slowly came back down, breathing hard.

Demo managed to sit up a bit higher, hoping to address the both of them, then he saw the well-past-satisfied look on Scout’s face, and looked down a bit further and saw that Scout hadn’t bothered trying to catch Demo’s orgasm, instead letting it splatter out onto his own stomach and nearly up to his chest.

“You ever get tired of getting filthy just to look good?” Demo asked, admittedly feeling his face heat up as he looked at the sight.

“Nah,” Scout said smugly.

“Oh, what’s the damn kid gone and done now?” Sniper grumbled, leaning down next to the two of them and planting an elbow next to Demo’s, eyes widening a little at the sight. “…Christ, nevermind, carry on,” he said, leaning his cheek on his fist as he ogled.

“Pretty little thing, aye?” Demo asked, adjusting his weight to stroke a hand down Scout’s side, grinning at the shiver that drew out of him, Scout clearly all keyed up.

“You wanna talk about good-lookin’? I know I’ve got a mirror for you around here somewhere,” Scout replied, even if it wobbled a bit with Sniper’s free hand moving to tweak at his nipples. “Fuckin’—quit it, Snipes, c’mon.”

“Nah, nah, keep on, Mundy,” Demo urged, shifting to better balance as he moved a hand down between them to grip at Scout’s dick, hard and demanding, probably bordering on painful.

Scout jolted, a sound of pleasure punching out from deep in his chest, and he squirmed a little bit, breath picking up. “Y-you guys—hey, I thought we’re, this is Demo’s night, okay?” he tried, even muddled, even trying hard not to arch into Demo’s hand.

“You’re good for more than one round,” Demo taunted, echoing the earlier sentiment. He leaned down to murmur right into Scout’s ear, enjoying the shiver he gave at it. “And besides, lad, I think I’d really get a kick out of you makin’ an even bigger mess all over yourself, aye? Hearin’ you _moan_ for it. Gorgeous little thing.”

Scout bucked, and spilled, and moaned just as he’d been asked to, embarrassed and defeated.

“Mmm. Lovely,” Demo purred, and Scout just burrowed into his neck to hide, face bright red. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of, lad. Especially since you bounce back so quick after, see?”

Scout grumbled something at that.

“You hangin’ in there, Mickey?” Demo asked, looking over at Sniper, who looked very pleased with himself, stroking a palm over Scout’s ribcage where there wasn’t much mess.

“Enjoyin’ the show, Tavish,” he replied evenly, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. “And seems like you are too.”

He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but Scout did tend to make a nice view, and his body was starting to react again upon seeing it, member growing heavier between his thighs once more. “I am,” he agreed.

“Care to take a spin on that toy, now?” Sniper suggested.

“Where’s that leave you?” Demo asked, eye flicking down to glance at where Sniper’s pants were growing properly snug.

“Buggering the prettyboy’s mouth once he’s found it again, I’d bet,” Sniper said, reaching up to stroke his thumb across Scout’s bottom lip. Sometimes that was a great way to get Scout to bite you, but now he’d been unraveled enough that instead he leveled a heated look at Sniper, moving instead to lick at it partingly. “Yeah, isn’t that right? There’s a beauty.”

Sniper returned to his previous position behind Demo, slicking something up and spreading him open with one hand. “Slow, now,” Demo warned.

“Oh, ‘course,” Sniper agreed, and then something slightly chillier than the room was pressing at him, then pressing in.

Scout helped distract him from the odd feeling of it by laying kisses all across the underside of his jaw where beard started to fade to neck, nose tickling where it brushed. Demo jolted as the toy pressed just right, and he heard Sniper chuckle behind him, and felt his face burning again.

“Ready, then?” Sniper asked, smoothing hands down the outside of Demo’s thighs.

“Give him a minute, Legs,” Scout warned, then set back in again.

“Think I’m probably ready,” Demo said hesitantly, frowning a bit.

“Hah! No you aren’t,” Scout scoffed knowingly. “Like, three more minutes. Trust me.”

Sniper continued on with teasing touches across his thighs and ass, and finally made an impatient little noise. There were sounds of shuffling, then Sniper was back, much closer, grinding at the back of his thigh idly while he continued spidering hands all over his skin. Demo was starting to feel a bit warm, a bit sensitive again, and it was then that Sniper’s hands fell down to the base of the toy again, hesitating, waiting for something.

Demo startled a bit when he realized what it was. “Go on then,” he urged, rocking back for emphasis.

Sniper obliged, and the toy clicked to life, and his breath caught.

It wasn’t necessarily the strongest vibration he’d ever felt in his life, but pressed just there against his prostate, humming steadily and unrelentingly, it had him feeling overwhelmed within moments.

He sagged against Scout, moaning and mouthing nonsense into his collarbone, more desperate noises rising up from the back of his throat. Scout pet encouragingly over his shoulders, saying all sorts of sweet little things that Demo could barely process when it felt like his soul was about to damn near leave his fucking body.

He jolted as Sniper reached around and beneath him to cup and roll at his balls and to fist his erection in steady motions, grinding idly against his thigh again, not demanding, not really even asking, just scratching an itch. Not that Demo could particularly pay attention to it.

The first time getting off wasn’t a problem, but this second time often ended with the other two being finished first and needing to end him off with a hand or mouth. At one point Scout had finished while Demo was fucking him and he’d urged Demo to fuck the space between his thighs, and that was damn nice. The point was, though, often his stamina on the second go-around could be an inconvenience.

This time, he was concentrating hard on not coming undone within five damn minutes of the thing being turned on.

The two of them went easy on him, at least, sensing that all of this was bordering on being too much for him, movements slow and gentle, handling him like he was something delicate, and had they not so carefully pulled him apart at the very seams he might’ve had it in him to be irked by it, but as it was he couldn’t help but agree.

“Good?” Scout asked softly, pressing a kiss below his eyepatch again, and it was only then that Demo processed the tears leaking out of the corner of his good eye and dripping to land in Scout’s hair.

“So good,” he agreed, practically wheezed, and now he was the one hiding his face in Scout’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He absentmindedly worried a mark into Scout’s neck, distantly feeling the edge creep into view, and he heard Sniper whisper some kind of encouragement and felt Scout’s arms tighten around him before he finally careened over it, crying out in his pleasure, hips jolting raggedly as he tried to chase the high for just a little bit longer.

For a bit, he couldn’t process much of anything. The toy was out, and he was lying on his side, cradled between the two of them, held tightly. His breath was shuddery.

“We’ve got you, Tav,” Sniper was murmuring, gentle and soft.

“We love you,” Scout was assuring, quiet and tender.

And he drifted off like that, and couldn’t seem to remember a single time he’d ever felt sad in his life, his chest far too full to make way for bad memories.

God, he loved them.


	30. Sniper/Scout, Dominant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for crying and emotional overload)

From the very start, he’d given Scout two options, the way he tended to do. And maybe neither option was something Scout was necessarily thrilled about, but he had a choice nonetheless.

It had been a pretty straightforward one that night.

“Alright sweet’eart,” Sniper had murmured, soft into Scout’s ear. “Do you want me to edge you tonight until you cry, or do you want me to make you come over and over until you cry? It’s up to you.”

Maybe not the hardest set of choices he’d ever been presented with, but definitely not an easy one.

He thought about it. On one hand, Sniper wringing him absolutely dry was always a real treat, but he was always disoriented and off-kilter for days afterwards. On the other hand, Sniper keeping him there at the edge for ages and ages always really fucked with him, and made him come harder than anything else in the world, but he always became such a mess.

But if Sniper making a mess out of him was guaranteed…

“Edging,” Scout managed, voice quiet.

“What was that?” Sniper asked.

“Edging,” Scout repeated, a bit louder.

“No, no no no sweet’eart,” Sniper tsk’d, and then his voice had a hard edge to it. “What was that?”

Scout swallowed hard, already feeling his shorts grow tight. “Edging, please, sir.”

“Good boy,” Sniper allowed, maybe the last time his voice would really be gentle for the rest of the night, and then his hands encircled either of Scout’s wrists.

Soon enough he was bound with his wrists to his ankles, a spreader bar holding his knees far, far apart. He allowed Sniper to slip the gag between his lips and then teeth with no resistance at all, tying it around the back of his head neatly so it wouldn’t fall off.

Then he was pulling out yet another little favorite of his, pinching and tweaking Scout’s nipples to make him squirm before finally putting on the pair of clamps that he so liked, and watched Scout squirm at them with a rather pleased expression.

“Pretty little thing,” Sniper praised, voice low, drawing his thumb across Scout’s bottom lip, clearly entertained by Scout’s attempt to lick at it despite the gag. “Comfortable?”

Scout shifted a bit in his bonds, then nodded. But Sniper hummed, eyebrows drawing together.

“Oh, that’s too much movement I think,” he seemed to decide, reaching back into their little box and coming back with a collar and another length of rope.

Soon the collar was around his neck, the length of rope secured to the ring at the front and against the headboard. Scout shifted again, and found that if he leaned too much or wriggled too much he threatened to unbalance, but the position he rested in was fairly comfortable, not putting too much strain on any part of his body.

He was a little confused—usually Sniper picked a position that put more stress on him—but he didn’t protest, just enjoying the unexpected mercy.

Sniper pulled a toy from the box, a pretty standard little vibrator, and started slicking it up. “Just put fresh batteries in all these,” he said calmly, looked back up at Scout again. “Apparently the battery life on this is meant to be about an hour or so, but I’d imagine that’s mostly on the lower settings. Probably closer to half an hour.”

Scout’s eyes flicked between the vibrator and Sniper’s expression.

“Might as well find out for sure though, isn’t that right, pet?” Sniper asked, and reached to slip the vibrator into Scout, letting it settle, picking up the remote that belonged to it. “Would you like that?”

Scout kept his breath even and deliberate.

“I said, would you like that?” Sniper asked again, a hard edge in his tone.

Scout mumbled a “Yes sir” as best he could through the gag, and earned another “Good boy” for his trouble before the vibrator was switched on and set to a pulsing sort of rhythm that had him melting.

Sniper let him get used to it, sat back to simply watch, undoing the button and zipper of his pants for comfort but otherwise not doing much of anything. Once he was settled in, getting used to the pleasure, Sniper spoke. “Think you can come from that?” he asked calmly.

Scout shook his head no.

“Good,” he said, and got comfortable.

Sniper was patient, he’d proved that time and time again. So when it occurred to Scout a few moments later that Sniper was just leaving him like that until the toy ran out of battery, well, he was very briefly upset, struggling in his bonds and making noises of protest against the gag as best he could.

Sniper raised an eyebrow and shut the toy off entirely until he’d stopped struggling and settled back down, then promptly turned it back on again.

At first he decided to try and just lean into it, and too soon found himself getting increasingly desperate. Then he tried to keep his mind distracted, on song lyrics or baseball stats, _something_ that would keep his head in the game for a little while.

Because it was pretty clear that Sniper thought he would take a lot longer than this to break, and so he wanted to, really earnestly wanted to.

He felt the vibrations starting to settle, and then a minute or two later they stopped. Sniper hummed and glanced at his watch.

“Closer to forty minutes,” he noted.

Scout was sagged in his bonds, finally allowed a moment to just breathe, and bit back a grunt when Sniper pulled the toy free from his body and put it aside.

Then he was pulling a different toy free from the box. “Ought to be about an hour’s life on this one,” Sniper said lightly, slicking it up and sliding that in next, clearly enjoying the look of panic on Scout’s face. “Might give you a break in the middle. If you’re good,” he murmured, and clicked it on.

This one was thicker, and the new pattern was lighting up his whole body, the novelty of something different driving him absolutely insane after so long of those steady, constant buzzes.

He wasn’t sure how long he made it before he started whining almost frantically around the gag. Sniper leaned forward and clicked the toy off, clicking his tongue in turn. “Close, there, pet?” he asked.

Scout shook his head, his entire body sinking when he was finally given that moment’s rest, an uneven trembling going through his calves.

“Asking for that break?” he tried instead, raising an eyebrow.

Scout nodded.

Sniper hummed. “Alright. Here’s another choice, then. You can take the break now if you’d like,” he said darkly. “But if you do, you won’t get another one until this toy’s run out or you cry. And I should warn you, that’ll be something like fifty minutes from now.”

Ten minutes. He’d only made it _ten minutes_.

“You want that break?” Sniper asked, and Scout released a shaky breath, shaking his head no. “Thought so.”

The toy was turned back on, and it felt like the moan he gave at the sensation was kicked out of him.

He felt his brain starting to go blurry, heat buzzing around his head in time with the throbs of the toy, the throbs of his dick. He felt overstimulated and understimulated, numb and sensitive, like he’d put his skin on too tight and a bit crooked.

It could’ve been years or seconds until Sniper clicked the toy off again. “You can have that break now, only twenty minutes left,” he said, voice low. Scout shook his head no. “Oh? You don’t want it?” He shook his head no, too slow and too long. “Alright then, pet, if you say so.”

When the toy ran out of battery, it was barely a gift. He found himself absently, uselessly rocking back into it as if to get the stimulation back.

Sniper pulled the toy free, and Scout leaned forward as much as he could, trying hard to get some kind of contact, anything at all. Sniper took hold of his jaw, looking over his face. “Pretty little thing. You’re properly gone now, aren’t you?” Sniper asked him, voice hot and soothing, evening his breath out. “Lovely, lovely thing. That was nearly an hour total.”

He tried to speak through the gag, rocking a bit to emphasize.

“Hurts?” Sniper asked for clarification, and tsk’d when he nodded. “Well, lucky for you that you’re getting that break, then. Five whole minutes ought to help.”

It did, a little. His erection dimmed from being painfully hard and throbbing there at the forefront of his mind to a background kind of itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. And Sniper took the clamps from his nipples, and the blood rushing back was a good distraction. It hurt, a lot, but it was a good hurt in a weird way. But Sniper was sweet enough to stay close, and Scout just let his forehead rest against his chest, breathing in the smell of him.

What must have been five minutes later, Sniper gave him no warning before pushing in the next toy. This one was shaped more realistically like a dick, and pressed in to rest much deeper. “This one lasts about half an hour on high, but I imagine that’d have you spilling within a few minutes when you’re all desperate like this,” Sniper rumbled into his ear, words leaving shivers like aftershocks in their wake. “So count on it being closer to forty minutes, I’d think.”

He tried to protest it, but then the toy was humming to life, and he was sinking right back into that previous state of mind, shivering and whining and shuddering all at once.

He became aware all at once of the feeling of pressure at his neck, and realized he’d slumped forward pretty hard against his bonds, boneless in his desolation. He looked up hazily at Sniper, coming back into his mind for a moment, and whimpered outright when he saw that Sniper had a hand around himself and was stroking idly, no rush or hurry at all as he watched Scout falling apart.

His hips jerked with a sudden urgency, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, orgasm coming into view. He fought hard against it, and sighed with both relief and desperation when he felt the toy shut off.

“Close?” Sniper asked.

He’d been close for ages. He’d been close since ten minutes into the first toy. But Sniper knew him too fucking well and knew exactly what setting he could put each toy on to drive him insane but not push him over the edge. If Sniper so much as breathed on his dick he was pretty sure he would be able to come, but he knew he wasn’t getting anything, anything at all, besides teased. Until he gave Sniper what he wanted, at least.

The toy switched back on. Scout wasn’t sure what the sound he made would be classified as. After some hazy amount of time that Scout couldn’t process, he felt the edge approaching. The toy switched back off. It retreated. The toy switched back on. He felt the edge approaching, even faster than before. The toy switched back off.

He wailed, and sobbed, and that was it.

Sniper untied the gag and let it fall from his lips as Scout fell apart, sobbing hard and begging with all the choked voice he could muster for Sniper to please let him come. Usually Sniper would edge him until he begged to get fucked, but he was even beyond that, not even looking for the pleasure of it so much as looking for an end. The pleasure had warmed him, then heated him, and now he felt like every nerve was in the wake of being burned, oversensitive and aching. He could barely feel his legs. He didn’t even want to think about his dick. He just wanted to finish. He wanted it so bad.

Sniper kissed him, tonsils-deep, wetting his mouth where he’d run out of saliva nearly half an hour ago and making him moan. The toy was suddenly turned to full power, and he moaned at twice the volume of before, ready to break down entirely.

He wailed, cried out, practically screamed his complete dismay when the toy ran out of battery.

Sniper just cradled him close while he pulled it out and replaced it with two of his own fingers, finding and expertly stroking just right. His other hand moved to untie the collar from the headboard, and Scout sagged forward against him entirely, just sobbing weakly, whimpering out “thank you, sir,” over and over again like a mantra, rhythm so steady that Sniper caught on immediately that he was nowhere near in his right mind anymore.

When Sniper moved his knee forward, giving Scout something to rut against, he lasted exactly seven seconds before he came, the orgasm itself stringing out for so long that he was sure he’d pull a muscle, so hard that when he finally spilled it seeped out of him more than anything else.

Sniper shushed him gently, whispering soft endearments under his breath as he gently unbound Scout, starting with his arms, then the spreader bar. He reached to take off the collar, and Scout weakly tried to escape his hands, and Sniper allowed it, letting him keep it on, at least for the moment.

He vaguely remembered Sniper coaxing him into drinking water, but not much else after that, to be honest. He felt too exhausted and worn out to even think.

And that was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he’d asked for to start off the little games Sniper played with him, put him through. And Sniper always lived up to the one stipulation he’d given alongside it—“as long as I always feel safe.”

He did.


	31. Sniper/Scout, Neko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for neko/vaguely furry content)

“Snipes.” A pause. “Snipes, wake up.” Another pause. “Snipes, I want breakfast. C’mon.”

Once upon a time, Sniper’d been the type to have a lot of sleep problems. Mostly in the realm of falling asleep in the first place, sometimes with staying asleep. Now those were gone, for the same reason he now apparently would regularly wake up at dawn.

He blinked his eyes open and glared at Scout, who was pouting right back at him.

“Quit ignoring me and get up,” Scout urged, a little whiny.

“Love, it’s _six-thirty_ in the _bloody_ morning on the _bloody_ weekend,” Sniper said, patience thin in his voice. “What could you possibly need from me this early?”

“I want breakfast,” Scout said simply.

Sniper rolled over to go back to sleep.

“No!” Scout whined outright, stopping him. “C’mon, I’ll cook and everything, but I’m not eating without you. That’d be shitty. C’mon, wake up.”

Sniper blinked up at him again begrudgingly. “Why should I do that?”

Scout pouted for a minute before he visibly perked up. Sniper could feel his tail lashing. “…I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, voice a purr, a matching rumble rising up in his chest for only a moment.

“Will you, now?” Sniper asked idly, eyes drawing down what view of Scout he had. No shirt on, having slept in a pair of shorts. His neck was well marked up—not from the previous night he was pretty sure, probably from the one before that. Scout always got a kick out of Sniper biting him, with his big teeth and all.

“Yeah,” Scout agreed. “Like, besides me makin’ you food.”

“Get to it, then. I’m already dozing off again,” Sniper warned, and Scout rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue at him, then shifted down the bed a little ways.

He shoved the blankets aside and pushed Sniper’s briefs down out of the way, and there was unfortunately some amount of shifting to be had from Sniper for the both of them to be situated even a little comfortably. A little cot in a campervan wasn’t the best place for two people to move comfortably most of the time, but they made it work. Then Scout was taking hold of him in one hand, moving in tentative strokes to get Sniper hard, eyes flicking up to watch his face every few seconds, not entirely convinced Sniper was joking about the nodding off thing.

He found himself relaxing and just settling in for the ride, propped and watching idly, enjoying his good luck, and then Scout was bending down and pressing teasing licks all across him, seemingly random but a very lovely warm-up to what was to come.

Sniper exhaled through his nose, head rolling back, ears flattening for a moment as he stifled a noise of pleasure in the back of his throat. He let his hand fall down towards Scout, tangling in the hair at the top of his head, right between his ears.

Scout seemed satisfied enough with his work to properly start in, laving messier licks across the head to get him nice and wet before finally taking him into his mouth, lips and tongue tucked carefully over his teeth.

Often this was more of a zero to a hundred sort of situation, both of them stumbling across time and privacy and promptly buggering each other’s brains out whatever way they felt like. But they’d gotten most of that out of their systems over the previous two days, and now they were allowed to be lazy, to be simple, gentle bobs of Scout’s head bringing forth soft panting from Sniper the longer he kept at it.

And it was just plain pleasant, really it was. Sniper just had one more thing in mind.

Scout looked almost ridiculously satisfied down there, working with easy concentration, eyes closed and face slack with his own pleasure, ever the empathetic little thing. But Sniper’s hand in his hair moved to scratch along his ears, and he was melting all the further, and he started purring.

It was maybe one of his favorite things to get Scout to do. First because it just sounded nice, second because it felt absolutely amazing, such low vibrations thrumming around him, fluttering and teasing at him, making him gasp. And he was panting outright, making a soft noise on the exhale, pressure building, building, building, and he managed a warning, and the purring redoubled, and Scout looked up at him—

His hips jerked, and he spilled, thighs tensing, a growl rising in his throat and petering off into a groan. Then he was catching his breath, eyes closed tightly.

Then Scout was up with him again, breath hot against his neck. “ _Fuck_ you look good like that,” he managed, voice weak, and Sniper blinked his eyes open, and found that Scout had a hand around himself, tugging furiously, damn pleased with his work, apparently.

Sniper hummed in reply, moving to hold Scout, arms around his waist to gather him close. “Good-looking yourself,” he replied, huskier than before, and it coaxed a noise from Scout. “Need anything from me?”

“Bite me?” Scout offered, looking just as embarrassed as he had the first few dozen times he’d said it.

Sniper hummed, and bent to align his mouth with the slope of Scout’s shoulder, and opened his mouth wide, scraping sharp canines threateningly over the wiry muscles there beneath, biting down with only enough pressure to draw attention, never enough to break skin or hurt him.

Scout hadn’t asked for anything else, but Sniper figured, well, Scout was in an awfully giving mood, he ought to do the same. So he slid a hand down over the arch of his back and started teasing at the base of his tail idly, fingers scratching through the fur of it, other hand rising to do the same thing to his ears.

“Sweet little kit,” Sniper hummed into his neck, nipped again. “So sweet like this.”

Apparently that was enough, because Scout tensed, gasping, and Sniper felt a stray drop or two landing on his stomach.

“Lovely,” Sniper praised next, and Scout relaxed a moment later, a brief shiver going through him, and Sniper kissed him on the shoulder. “But a naughty little thing, aye? Made a mess, haven’t you?”

Scout pulled back enough to look at him, expression hazy and confused.

“Go on, lick it up,” he urged, nodding down towards his own stomach.

Scout flushed, ears flattening for a moment in his embarrassment, but he only hesitated for a moment before he moved to do so, doing his best to maintain eye contact, and Sniper grinned at it. Scout finally sat back up, fixed Sniper’s briefs, his own shorts, wiped off his hand on a towel that was just barely in reach.

“Okay, breakfast now?” Scout urged.

“Thought you just had it,” Sniper teased, drawing a thumb over Scout‘s cheek. He laughed at Scout’s sputtering, at the way Scout tugged on his ear in annoyance. “Awright, awright! Joking! Yeah, breakfast sounds good. And I’m helping you cook, you’re not burning down my kitchen.”

“I was just gonna do pancakes, I’m great at pancakes,” Scout whined, looking put out, ears flat again.

“Well, I want more than just pancakes, love,” Sniper replied. He finally sat up, planted a kiss on Scout’s cheek as he urged him up out of his lap, amused by the way even that small show of affection was enough to have him perking right back up again. “Right, go on. Get up.”

He did, and only whacked Sniper with a pillow for a few minutes when Sniper gave into the temptation of giving his tail a parting tug as it brushed up near his nose, and continued to complain about it all the way through eating the pancakes.


	32. Sniper/Spy, Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for vague trust issues, resolved)

Sniper shifted, the regular cautious nervousness he settled into during encounters like this starting to turn into deep discomfort. A hand pet down over his upper arm, Spy shushing his nerves gently, and admittedly it was rather soothing.

“I still don’t see why you wouldn’t just turn out the lights rather than… this,” Sniper said hesitantly, throat rough. “If you’re worried about my seeing your face.”

Spy’s hand moved to stroke a thumb down his cheek just below where the blindfold sat on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t have the most trust in that,” Spy replied. “Count yourself lucky I’m allowing you to have your hands free. I will trust you with that much.”

Sniper exhaled slowly. “And I suppose it goes without saying that I’m trusting you not to take advantage of my being blindfolded,” Sniper grumbled.

A pair of lips briefly against his cheek. “And I appreciate it, _mon cher_. I do.”

“I’ll warn you now, I’m calling things off if you try and flip me over,” Sniper said, trying for a joking tone.

“Mm, no. I think I like you better like this,” Spy said, a slippery hand laving a caress down over him briefly before retracting.

Sniper wasn’t wholly sure what he meant by that at first, and then he felt Spy’s weight shifting over him, and his eyes shot wide behind the blindfold, mouth falling open as Spy sunk down onto his length.

“ _Mmmh_ ,” Spy groaned, hands planted on his abdomen, shifting experimentally before releasing an exhale of utter satisfaction. “Yes, I think this will do just fine.”

Sniper’s hands fluttered, hesitated, before finally managing to find Spy’s hips, gripping tightly as he rolled a few times, shifting and tightening and releasing and finally milking an outright groan from Sniper. “Bugger,” he croaked.

Spy laughed a little, more a chuckle than anything else, with that teasing little purr in it that he liked so much, and then he was tipping up onto his knees and dropping back down again.

The rhythm he set was steady, languid, unhurried and unbothered. Praises purred into the air between them had Sniper melting back into the too-soft sheets of the bed, even if he couldn’t understand the language they were spoken in. On one hand it took no time at all before he felt all keyed up, but on the other… this was new.

Usually he didn’t end up taking his time with partners—more specifically, they didn’t take their time with _him_. When he’d been working on his own in Australia the standard he could expect was getting propositioned, getting his brains pounded out for a round, maybe two if he was lucky, then never seeing them again. And he was alright with it, it scratched an itch.

But this was new. And he was finding that he enjoyed it, very much.

Spy was riding him like he had absolutely nowhere else to be, like he could keep this pace up all night. And Sniper was tempted to let him, to just bask in the heated rolls of pleasure meandering through his body. And he groaned and growled his own praises as best he could, overwhelmed with his senses narrowed down to just touch and hearing and taste and smell, the last two becoming relevant as Spy briefly shifted to lay forward and capture his mouth in a lazy, languid kiss. The slip and press of Spy’s tongue drew moans out from his chest all the more readily, and he reached to put a hand on Spy’s head to hold him in place.

Apparently his hair was a bit long, long enough to really tangle his fingers into and grip at, and apparently Spy liked that because he shivered bodily and the steady roll of his hips sped.

They pulled apart for air, and Spy’s crooning tone was suddenly teasing, Sniper could tell, he just knew that Spy had to be poking fun. So he showed Spy exactly what he thought of that, taking hold of his hips again and starting to rock up into him more forcefully.

He was rather pleased with himself at the gasping that he coaxed out of Spy by doing so, allowing a toothy grin. “Have somethin’ to say to me, Spook?” he managed to grunt, voice tight with effort and pleasure and all sorts of other things.

“But of course,” Spy purred, even shaky as it was, and then he was leaning down close into Sniper’s ear, and he sounded so damn wanton and pleading that Sniper was obeying his request before he even processed it. “ _Harder._ ”

Spy was reduced to gasps and choked-off moans as Sniper started pounding up into him in earnest, meeting him halfway with clever rolls of his hips that had Sniper’s breathing growing heavy. It was all hot, too hot, and he was sure he was sweating enough that Spy would bitch about it later, but in the moment neither of them could find it in them to care, Spy just tangling a hand in his hair and pressing lovely little kisses up his neck when he found the mind to do so.

He felt Spy’s knuckles brushing his stomach between them as he started pulling and tugging at himself insistently, and took that as permission enough to finish, ending off with a few hard rolls, grinding deep and earning a near-desperate wail as he gripped Spy’s member as well to bring him right along with. He grinned at the feeling of wet heat spurting between them, and all the more at Spy practically collapsing against him, surely smearing it all over himself as he nuzzled so very sweetly at the base of Sniper’s neck, kissing at him.

Sniper blinked his eyes open lazily when Spy rolled his hips away to disconnect, and was overtaken by confusion for a moment at the brightness before he felt his heart drop.

Spy had made a mistake. The blindfold was slipping off of his eyes from where Spy had been tugging at his hair. He could see.

He quickly squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could manage, going stock-still as he frantically tried to think of some way to fix things. Then Spy was sitting up at his sudden tension, probably confused, and freezing as well.

“The blindfold’s off,” Spy observed.

“Fix it, please,” Sniper managed, throat tight.

“…The blindfold’s off, and you’re not looking at me.”

He kept his eyes squeezed shut. “You told me not to.”

Spy kissed him with such fervor that for a moment Sniper was pretty sure he had to be angry, and then he realized it was passion, not rage.

The blindfold was situated back over his face when Spy pulled away again. “Well, I suppose that settles the matter. I think I’d like to continue this arrangement,” he said decisively.

“…Really?” Sniper asked, a little surprised.

“ _Mon cher_ , you had every opportunity to simply open your eyes and see my face, and you didn’t. And besides that, I had a very wonderful time,” Spy all but purred, and Sniper shivered at the feeling of fingertips tracing down his ribcage. “Unless you are saying you wouldn’t like to…?”

“I’d—“ Sniper started to say quickly before realizing how desperate he nearly sounded. He tried to save it. “Er. I think I’d be awright with that.”

“Good,” Spy said, sounding pleased. “For now, how does a smoke sound?”

“Bloody wonderful,” Sniper sighed, smiling, fairly certain Spy was doing the same.

* * *

Sniper felt a pair of arms snake around his waist, and didn’t bother trying to bite down his smile.

“A new recipe,” Spy observed, chin resting on his shoulder, apparently looking at the cookbook Sniper had open and was working from. It had been a gift, for the second of Sniper’s birthdays that they’d spent together, a few months prior. The wrapped gift, at least—he’d gotten an entirely different gift that night in bed. It was yet another prod at Sniper’s cooking capabilities, albeit a more genuine one, and since he’d gotten it he’d sometimes tried out a few of the recipes whenever he found he had the time and ingredients. He wasn’t great at it, but he was actually finding cooking rather fun, suddenly, if frustrating in the tiny kitchen of the camper.

“Tryin’, at least,” Sniper confirmed, gently moving the little cutting board aside and squinting down at the curly text, head tipping forward a little. “It’ll be about twenty minutes until it’s ready, if you’re…”

He trailed off, suddenly registering something.

He could feel some amount of Spy’s stubble on his shoulder, which wasn’t new, except Sniper wasn’t blindfolded, and the lights weren’t out. He couldn’t feel any fabric at all, even as Spy nosed behind his ear at his hairline and started lying gentle kisses there.

He immediately squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his hand up over his eyes for good measure, the front of it messy where he’d been cutting up vegetables. “Mate, your mask’s off,” he said carefully.

Spy hummed in agreement.

“I’m…” Sniper squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “Dunno if now’s a good time for this, all these knives out and all, and… it’s morning, even with the lights out I’ll be able to see—“

“Correct,” Spy said, tone light.

Sniper braced his free hand on the counter. “Look, darl, I’m—I’m going to see you, I think,” he warned, tone taking an edge of desperation.

“ _Mon cher_ , I want you to,” Spy finally said, outright, laughing a little and starting to kiss at him again.

He felt absolutely electrified.

“What a thing to spring on a bloke all suddenly like this,” Sniper chuckled, getting the courage to lower his hand but not to open his eyes just yet.

“I would’ve thought you’d be excited,” Spy hummed.

“I am, ‘course I am,” Sniper assured. “I’m also just… I almost never expected to see it. Didn’t know if…”

Spy considered that. “Well, it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for quite some time,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid I lost the courage before I could do it, the last few times I tried.”

“You’ve tried this before?” Sniper asked, throat dry.

Spy nodded. “Once several months ago, and then you pointed out that I didn’t have it on, and I lost my nerve and pretended I hadn’t noticed,” Spy said, starting to trace shapes into his hip. “Several times I thought I’d do something… romantic, perhaps, and just take it off in a moment of passion. But I do look ridiculous just after I’ve taken it off for the first time in a day. Once or twice I thought about just joining you in the shower.” A little laugh. “You might find this hard to believe, but I’m quite the coward, _mon cher_.”

“You’re not,” Sniper protested, voice a little shaky. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

An exhale from Spy, warm against his neck. “Then you’ll be surprised to know that right now I’m very much terrified.”

“It’s alright,” Sniper said, reaching his clean hand back to card through Spy’s hair gently. “We can… if you’re not ready yet, that’s alright. We can wait.”

“ _Mon beau_ ,” Spy laughed. “I could wait for the next fifty years and I’ll still be scared. But I want to do this. I truly do.”

Sniper nodded carefully. Tucked his head forward to blink his eyes open, to find something to wipe his hands clean with. Hesitated.

He closed his eyes again to turn around, and he found Spy’s shoulders, drifted up to cup his face. Opened his eyes.

Looked at him for a few moments in silence. Blurted a startled little laugh.

“You’re blond?” he asked incredulously.

Spy laughed too, a wateriness to his eyes and a tightness to his jaw that suggested he was nearly ready to bolt. “It used to be more red,” he admitted, glancing self-consciously off to one side. “But it’s faded. I’m not sure entirely when, I’ve been dying it all sorts of different colors for… a very long time. It’s grown back out, now. This is the natural color.”

Sniper nodded, still looking over his face, at the various scars and wrinkles and beauty marks. He already knew the shape of Spy’s face—his mask didn’t do much to hide that—but everything else had largely been a mystery. A mystery he was very much enjoying knowing the answer to.

He leaned in and kissed Spy square on the mouth. Pulled back, took in the picture he made, the expression he wore so familiar but suddenly fully revealed.

He swallowed hard. “Mind if we put off breakfast for a while?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Spy replied, smiling a little, apparently relaxing some small amount at the kiss.

He found himself laid out on his back, hands clutching at Spy’s hair—blond, really, for some reason he never expected blond—and kissing him reverently as Spy slowly pushed in, so very gently, so very gingerly.

This was the thing he found he was most addicted to in his relationship with Spy—how loving he was. Fully aware that the hands holding him had killed, entirely knowing that he was dangerous down to the very bones, and Spy still treated him so carefully. Not because he thought he needed to, but because he thought that it was what Sniper deserved.

They’d already reached “I love you”s, of course, but the idea of Spy making gentle love to him was still enough to make his entire chest flutter.

He found himself staring, watching, trying to take in every detail he could, actively fighting against the by then deeply-ingrained habit of keeping his eyes shut tight in precaution. The sweat beading across Spy’s forehead, the wrinkle in his brows as he grimaced in pleasure, the curve of his jaw as his mouth fell open around curses and endearments.

“You’re staring,” Spy laughed, breathless, caressing up his thigh.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, laughing a little himself.

God, he loved him.

He came surprisingly hard, jerking and gasping, forcing himself to not tighten his grip too hard lest he leave bruises. Spy warmed him down with gentler rolls of his hips, leaving him shivery and pleased when he finally slipped out and quickly tugged himself to completion.

Sniper found himself just going back to holding his face, looking him over. Even unraveled and messy was beautiful in some way—mostly because it was him.

Spy moved as if to get up, but Sniper took hold of him, holding on tight. “No, stay here,” he insisted, and Spy smiled, settling back into bed.

“All it took for you to be cuddly was my face, then?” Spy asked, amused.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, smiling right back. “God. Nearly don’t want you to put the mask back on.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to see me like this from now on,” Spy said, pinching his thigh just to make him jump a little bit, grin mischievous. “There may be days when my paranoia flares up and I’ll be in my mask again, but… I know I was worried for nothing, it was just hard to show you this first time, and now that I’m sure the world won’t come crashing down around us, I’ll be less nervous.”

“I’m glad,” Sniper said, carding fingers up through his hair, mesmerized by it. “And I’m proud of you, you know. Bloody brave of you.”

“Mm.” Spy just looked at him, watched him as he kept himself entertained playing with his hair. “Promise not to make slights at my being blond in front of the team?”

“Oh, not in front of the team, no,” Sniper assured, and laughed at the light smack to the flank that he earned, Spy rolling his eyes and standing.

“You’re an animal,” he said flatly, clearly trying to put a little distance between the moment of utter fear and vulnerability and the present, although he continued to occasionally comb a hand up through his hair self-consciously, as if sure that it was somehow out of place.

“And you’re dating me on purpose, darl,” Sniper reminded him, sitting up and stretching a bit, trying to shake off his tiredness as best he could.

Spy didn’t seem to have a good rebuttal for that, and so he just moved on, starting to clean up a bit. “Are you going to finish making breakfast? Or would you like my help?” he asked.

“I’d appreciate it,” Sniper admitted, getting up.

Spy ended up taking over chopping up ingredients after the third time Sniper nearly cut himself on accident, preoccupied with just looking at him, and ended up pushing him aside altogether when he proved far too distracted to help in any capacity.

Ah, well. He could try the recipe again some other time.


	33. Sniper/Scout, Self-Esteem (Fem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for discussion of body image and self-esteem issues from sniper)

Scout went still, pulled back, looked at her, apparently noting the tension in her shoulders. “Uh,” she said. “Sorry. I—we can stop.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sniper assured, even as she forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle, flashing an admittedly tight smile at the girl straddling her lap, whose room they were occupying in that particular moment.

Scout frowned. “Snipes, seriously, it’s okay if—like, you don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do. It’s okay if you aren’t ready for stuff.”

“It’s not that,” Sniper insisted, and then winced a little at herself.

Scout tilted her head a little, looking confused.

Sniper wished this didn’t happen. She and Scout had been dating for months, and it was pretty obvious that Scout wanted… more. At first more than Sniper gingerly taking hold of her hand when they were driving into town, then more than Sniper swooping down to give her quick pecks on the cheek in moments of courage, then more than gentle kisses before parting ways in the evening.

Graduating from softer kisses to what they’d managed to escalate to—Scout sitting on her lap and kissing her absolutely silly, hands tangling in her hair and mouth working harder than it tended to do with her constantly firing off at the rest of the team—had taken a long time. And the first time they’d ended up making out outright had ended abruptly when Sniper had suddenly been hit with nerves, and she stammered out that she wasn’t sure she was ready to push much further, and Scout looked a little disappointed but was quick to assure her that they weren’t in any rush.

So that was how it tended to go. Scout kissing her so hard her head spun and backing off the moment Sniper started to seem uncomfortable. And admittedly, at some point down the line it stopped being that Sniper was uncomfortable with the idea of pushing further, and just being…

Well, self-conscious, to put it simply.

Scout exhaled, hands moving to rest on Sniper’s shoulders. “Snipes, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed.

“I know you said that you’re like, pretty new to dating and stuff but not like _that_ new, right?” she asked. Sniper nodded. “Okay. But like… are you new to like…”

Sniper waited for the end of the sentence. Scout huffed out a breath, apparently deciding to cut the bullshit.

“Snipes, are you all nervous about this stuff because you’re a virgin?”

Sniper blinked.

“Like, it’s fine if you are, or if you aren’t, whatever, I just… I dunno what’s got you all freaked out about this and I guess I’m just… curious, y’know?” Scout asked, entirely blunt but not unkind. “Like, if that’s it, then we can work with that. I just kinda don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta be embarrassed about stuff around me, y’know? Like, you don’t gotta keep secrets. If there’s somethin’ up, I want you to feel like you can tell me about it.”

It was just like Scout to manage to cut right to the core of something, even if it was from the wrong direction.

“No, I’ve… it’s not that,” Sniper said. “I’ve had sex before. A few times.”

She steeled herself, considered her words.

“Always with the lights out, though,” she finished.

Scout tilted her head in question, blinking.

Sniper exhaled, hands situating on Scout’s waist, eyes dropping off to one side. “I s’pose I just get all… embarrassed. Because I’m just… I know I’m not all that much easy on the eyes and all, and I—“

“Snipes, are you serious?” Scout cut in, sounding legitimately surprised. “Like, you’re not doin’ a bit?”

Sniper nodded.

“You really don’t think I like how you look?” Scout asked, tone serious. Sniper nodded again. “Aw, Jesus. Snipes, of course I—hey, I didn’t say nothin’ like that, did I? About not likin’ how you look?”

“Don’t… think so,” Sniper said carefully. “You’re generally sweet to me.”

“Well then… why wouldn’t I?” Scout asked, confusion increasing. “Of course I like the look’a you. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, babe, I’m datin’ you, aren’t I? And like, slobberin’ all over you every chance I get?”

It was hard to believe, still. Sniper searched for words, and found herself blurting insecurity like some kind of broken spigot. “I know, but, I’m just, I know I’m too tall—“

“I really like tall,” Scout assured. “Means you can pick me up and stuff, it’s awesome. And you can reach shelves, or I can climb you to get to stuff.”

That was true. Scout pretty regularly employed Sniper as a stepstool. “Well, I’ve got weirdly broad shoulders, it doesn’t fit me.”

“Do you?” Scout asked, frowning, looking over Sniper. “…I mean, you’re all strong-lookin’, if that’s what you mean. It kinda works since you’ve got muscly arms and stuff, I think they’re pretty good.”

“Not… _too_ muscly?” Sniper asked tentatively.

“Hell no! You kiddin’? It’s hot. Okay, like, okay can I sidebar real quick about somethin’?”

Sniper’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Because it just kinda feels like you’re real embarrassed right now and maybe if I say somethin’ kinda embarrassing too maybe it’ll help.”

“Alright, you have my attention,” Sniper said, smiling a little.

“Cool. Because like, you bein’ all tall and stuff, and these big muscly arms and whatever,” Scout started in, lightly squeezing the arms in question. “Y’know in like, cheesy romance movies when there’s—like, usually it’s a guy and a girl, and they’re in a suit and a dress and whatever but like bear with me here—like they’re dancin’ and stuff and then the person gets dipped and then they kiss and it’s super cliché and sweet? That’s like, the thing I always think about with these. Like literally all the fuckin’ time I’m like “man wouldn’t that be really great though if Snipes did that?” because it totally would, but also it’s like _literally_ the most cheesy shit in the world and I know you’re not all that into that.”

Sniper’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Scout paused. “Okay. Sidebar over. What the fuck were we talking about?”

Sniper paused, reoriented. “Things I’m embarrassed about,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Go on,” Scout said, surprisingly patient.

Sniper shifted a little, distracted by the feeling of Scout’s hands drifting up to rest on her shoulders again. “Well… I also don’t… keep clean enough, I don’t think,” she said carefully.

“Aw, sheesh, is this about how Spy keeps calling you smelly? Because she says that to like, literally anyone who doesn’t drench themselves in perfume like she does. And she still always smells like fancy-pants cigarettes anyways.”

“No, it’s…” Sniper felt herself flushing. “It’s that… you take good care of yourself and it makes me wonder if I don’t.”

“Huh?” Scout asked.

“You’re just…” Sniper chewed on her words. “You’re always just… smooth and pleasant, and you always smell so nice all the bloody time, and your hair’s all soft, and I’m just… not.”

“You think I smell nice?” Scout asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s perfume, it’s this sort of… soft vanilla sort of thing…?”

Scout laughed a little. “Oh, yeah, that’s my shampoo and conditioner that I use. Guess I can’t tell as much anymore unless I’m fresh outta the shower. But, aww. You’re sweet.”

“I’m just worried that… next to, to _this_ , to all this,” Sniper said, gesturing at much of Scout, “I just look like some sort of… messy, sort of…”

“What do you mean messy?” Scout asked, frowning. “You keep clean too, probably about as well or better than most of the gals.”

“But I don’t hardly ever shave, and my hair’s not as soft, and I don’t smell as nice—“

“You shouldn’t have to shave if you don’t wanna,” Scout protested. “I mean, mostly I just do that outta habit at this point, and because I like havin’ my legs smooth so I can get on my socks for my uniform without it feelin’ weird. And I’m blond, so it’s harder to see anyways when I skip a day. You’ve just got way darker and thicker hair than me, nothin’ wrong with that, it’d be way more of a bitch to take care of, and it isn’t like it matters much anyways. You don’t gotta put long socks on, and who’s gonna judge you about it? Mr. Pauling? He only likes dudes anyways.”

Sniper blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. So, uh, that two and a half years was a little bit of a waste. I kinda wish he told me up front, but hey, what’re you gonna do?” She shifted. “Shit, that reminds me, I gotta pass along this one phone number to him from this guy I met a couple weeks ago—okay, whatever. What were we talkin’ about?” She paused, thinking hard. “Oh, yeah. But yeah that’s not really a hygiene thing. You shower pretty much on the daily, and it’s alright if you don’t use some kinda fancy soap to like, smell like a goddamn summer breeze or whatever. That’s, like, optional.”

“I still feel odd about it,” Sniper said quietly.

“That’s okay!” Scout assured. “It’s fine if you feel weird about that stuff. Nothin’ wrong with that. But… I guess I just want you to know that _I_ don’t mind it, and don’t judge you.”

Sniper nodded, falling silent.

“So… just to be totally clear,” Scout started in slowly. “That’s what has you all nervous to do more stuff? You’re… worried about me lookin’ at you?”

Sniper swallowed, nodded. “Hardly anyone ever sees me naked,” she said. “And I’m just… worried you won’t like it.”

Scout considered that. “Well, I like _you_ ,” she seemed to decide, a hand dropping to rest over Sniper’s heart. “All of you that you’ve let me see so far—physically and every other way. So I feel like I’m probably gonna like the rest of you, too. Not just because you’re hot—which you totally are—but because it’s… y’know, you.”

Sniper smiled at that, even as she tried to fight it down. “You’re sweet,” was what she settled on saying after a moment’s consideration. She paused again. “Now I feel properly bloody ridiculous.”

“Aww, what?” Scout pouted.

“All that was holding me back from moving forward on… this,” she said, gesturing at the point where she and Scout met, “was one conversation that wasn’t even that difficult.”

Scout perked up, attention piqued, blinking at her once or twice.

“…Got somethin’ to say?” Sniper asked.

“…I mean, yeah, but also I don’t wanna be a total horndog, Snipes. I’m not an animal.”

“Got somethin’ to tell me there, sweet’eart?” Sniper taunted, starting to dig fingers into Scout’s sides, grinning at the way she immediately barked out laughter, squirming to get away. “Somethin’ to say?”

“I’m gonna friggin’ kill you, Snipes!” she giggled helplessly, finally managing to escape and standing, forcing the giggling down to instead glare, fixing her clothes back in order. “Nevermind, you’re the worst. I hate you. Not cool.”

“Aww,” Sniper teased, lounging a bit more comfortably. “That’s all it took, then?”

“Yeah. Now I hate you forever.”

“What if I did that thing you said, dipped you like we were dancing and pashed you silly? Would you forgive me then?” she urged.

Scout fought valiantly to keep a grin off her face. “…I’ll think about it,” she sniffed, and Sniper laughed.

Mere days later, they found themselves back together again, the pieces resetting, Scout on her lap as the camper grew dim under the force of sunset, mouth working expertly against her own and fingers tangled in her hair, starting to mess up her braid, not that she particularly minded. She was more preoccupied with the taste of whatever chapstick Scout had put on, probably labeled strawberry or cherry or something but mostly just tasting sweet and red, especially lovely in the heat building between them.

Her own hands could only rest at Scout’s waist idly, and it occurred to her that for all intents and purposes, she didn’t have much to worry about. Scout wanted her, she’d said as much over and over again since their conversation, had taken to laying into Sniper with compliments like a duck to water.

And she wanted Scout, for sure. So she decided that it was only fair to demonstrate.

Her hands drifted up, slowly, carefully.

Scout pulled back for a moment to gasp a breath, looking at Sniper with her eyes half-lidded. Then she blinked, apparently only then noticing that Sniper’s hands had drifted up her ribcage, and she pointedly dragged the nail of her thumb along just below where she could feel the ridge of her bra starting.

It was a bolder move than Sniper had maybe ever made before, and it prompted Scout to sink right back forward into her, kissing heatedly, loosing a soft noise into the minimal distance between them.

Sniper moved slowly, giving Scout every opportunity to stop her as her palms traced up even further to cup at Scout’s chest, and she never protested, instead leaning forward and whimpering almost desperately, needing to part for another moment, eyes locking onto Sniper’s. “Babe, do you wanna—are you—d-do—“ she stammered, losing track of her words as she became flustered, all the more as Sniper leaned in to start nipping at her neck near her hairline.

“There’s a beauty,” Sniper murmured, her voice falling low the way she knew Scout liked, gripping more firmly, squeezing, kneading soft noises out of Scout with surprising ease.

“W-wait,” Scout finally managed, and Sniper pulled back in an instant, surprised, but Scout didn’t let her get far. “Okay, wait. We gotta… we, look, I gotta know what you’re okay with, I don’t wanna assume—“

“I trust you,” Sniper blurted, and Scout blinked at her, going more alert before her expression promptly softened. Sniper hurried to elaborate. “If… if anything’s too much, or too far, I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?” Scout urged.

“Cross my heart,” Sniper swore, “I want you.” And that was apparently enough for Scout, because she leaned right back in to slot their lips together heatedly, desperation redoubled.

Scout’s hands slid out of her hair to instead feel at Sniper’s chest, and Sniper’s soft noise was overshadowed by Scout’s, who broke apart again to speak softly and quickly just next to Sniper’s ear. “Okay I’m glad because I really really want you too but also I didn’t wanna pressure you into doin’ something before you were totally 100% cool with it but also I just seriously couldn’t stop thinkin’ about doin’ _this_ ,” she rambled, emphasizing with a squeeze to Sniper’s breasts that had her gasping, “and I kept feeling super bad because I keep thinkin’ about you and feeling like I was being totally creepy but I can’t just look at you all day and kiss you like that all the time and not _want_ you and I’ve got _needs_ , okay—?”

“Well now that you get to have me, maybe you should focus more on that and less on talking, eh princess?” Sniper suggested with a little laugh, amused by Scout’s babbling, and apparently she agreed, because then they were kissing again.

Sniper’s permission seemed to be enough to really unlock some part of Scout that had been craving taste and touch, because her hands were everywhere, feeling out every part of Sniper that might otherwise have been deemed too inappropriate to touch, gripping and groping and kissing deeply and heatedly and lewdly, starting to grind down on Sniper’s thigh in rabbity little thrusts of her hips.

Sniper stopped her with hesitant then confident hands gripping at her arse, one hand drifting around her hip once she’d stopped moving, palm drifting slowly down below the high waist of her pants.

Scout jumped bodily, then whined urging noises into Sniper’s mouth, and then voiced them further when they parted for air and for Sniper to nose Scout’s hair aside to kiss at her throat. “C’mon, don’t be a tease, Snipes—“ she pleaded, and whined again when Sniper’s hand withdrew entirely, only to relax and exhale when she felt Sniper popping open the button on her pants and starting to work them down her legs.

This was the part that was a little more familiar, and Sniper was pleased to find out that undressing people was much easier with light available.

Scout’s hands fumbled in trying to return the favor each time Sniper nipped at her, and there was a distinct roll to her thighs when she shifted to flat-tongued laps against her pulse point. Overall, she was extremely pleased to find that Scout was just as reactive in this context as every other context she was faced with.

“Snipes, fuck’s sake—“ Scout finally complained, breathy as it was. “Take your fuckin’ shirt off.”

Sniper hesitated. Scout backpedaled.

“If-if you want, I mean. If that’s okay. With you. If you want,” she said quickly. A pause. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” Sniper assured, and paused for another few seconds, but then she started working on the buttons of her shirt, carefully as she could.

She shrugged it off, then pulled off the tank top she wore underneath, and Scout took that as her cue to shimmy out of some of her own clothes. She ended up depositing herself right back on Sniper’s lap, down to her skivvies and clearly trying to look composed.

“Cute bra,” Sniper said flatly, raising an eyebrow at her.

Scout flushed a little, rolling her eyes and raising a hand to adjust the bra in question a little, adorned with cute, flowery lace. “I just thought it was cute, okay? We get paid enough that I can afford to get a cute new bra sometimes,” she said defensively.

“So you didn’t put this on special, hoping you’d get to show it off?” Sniper asked, hands wrapping around to find handholds at her ass again. “And the matching panties?”

Scout flushed further. “Maybe I just always wear these when I want a little extra confidence, you don’t know,” she challenged.

“It’s cute, really it is,” Sniper assured, smiling a little, leaning in to kiss at her collarbone idly, hand drifting down her lower stomach again.

Scout breathed all sorts of affirming words as Sniper’s fingers first ghosted then pressed at her through the thin, humid fabric, rolling with her motions and quickly turning to jelly.

“Doesn’t take much for you, then, does it?” Sniper teased.

“Nah,” Scout confirmed, and her hips jumped when Sniper suddenly nipped at one breast without warning. “I’m… used to tryin’ to make it, f-fast, and… I kinda just… mmh.”

“What was that?” Sniper asked, fingertips trailing at the seam of her thighs where fabric gave way to skin just to make her shiver.

“It doesn’t help that I’m like…” Scout started, and trailed again. She dropped her head to rest on Sniper’s shoulder, making a soft sound. “Promise you’re not gonna laugh at me?”

“Cross my heart,” Sniper promised.

Scout still didn’t speak for a moment. “Well, when I can’t really go walkin’ into a bar somewhere to get laid on the weekends, which, y’know, that’s been the deal since we started dating,” she said, clearly trying to keep her voice at least a little level. Sniper hummed. “Well, kinda just… all pent up with nowhere to go, means I kinda… just, all the time, kinda playin’ around. And then when I really am tryin’ to get off I’m so pent up that I gotta try and get off a couple times just to get the energy outta me. And it’s been a little while since then, so I’m just… kinda desperate a little bit, y’know?”

Sniper hummed, nosing into her hair a little bit. “Tell me more, princess. How’s it usually go? Like this?” she asked lowly, finally slipping her hand beneath to touch Scout skin-to-skin, very pleased with how worked up she clearly already was.

“Y-yeah,” Scout gasped, rolling into it. “Harder. More— _mmmh_ , yeah, like that, fuck—“

She continued to make pleased little noises as Sniper drew her up and up through her first orgasm of the night, expertly tugging and rolling her fingers against her clit and dipping against her labia on the downstroke, pleased with the shivery puddle Scout melted into by the end of it.

She came out the other end still making little noises, still rolling her hips, clearly pleased with the low-key oversensitivity of it, only giving a happy little sigh when Sniper finally pulled her hand back.

“Ought to have gotten a towel, I think,” Sniper suddenly noted.

“I’ll grab one,” Scout said, standing on slightly-shaky legs and stretching a little bit. “You should get your pants off.”

“You don’t have yours off,” Sniper pointed out.

Scout rolled her eyes, starting to dig through a cabinet. “Sorry, your _trousers_ , bugger bloody hell,” she said, absolutely butchering Sniper’s accent. “Oi, holy dooley, bugger bugger, rugby—“

She was hit by Sniper’s button-up shirt, and laughed.

“Hey, is it okay if I hit the light?” Scout asked, coming back up with a towel.

Admittedly, it was getting pretty dark in the camper. Sniper hesitantly nodded, and Scout flicked on the little lamp by the counter, casting still-dim light over the small space, just enough to see a bit better.

It was enough to bring her nervousness back to the forefront of her mind, though, even as she finished stripping.

Scout returned with the towel, and Sniper found herself self-conscious enough that she shifted their positions, turning Scout to face away from her, lying between the Y of her legs against her chest as Sniper returned to playing with her idly.

And she found herself thoroughly enjoying it, enjoying bringing Scout into a wiggling, desperate puddle, teasing her, feeling her fingernails—so often bitten short—digging into her thighs as she crested the edge, it was heavenly. Scout couldn’t seem to collect herself enough to speak properly, trying to murmur phrases and words and getting too caught up in what all Sniper was doing to her. She mostly had to rely on the context clues of Scout rolling and tensing and gasping to find out exactly what she liked, but she gathered some things more directly when Scout managed to stammer out syllables. She seemed to be very fond of Sniper’s callouses, and her head kept rolling back from where she was watching Sniper work to instead rest heavily against her chest, a goofy little smile on her face. And it was nice, nice enough that Sniper found herself getting a little desperate as well.

But some part of the idea of Scout reciprocating, focusing entirely on her, taking the time to look her over and pull her apart… she didn’t know if she could do it. So she kept just pulling Scout apart, slow and steady, careful not to overwhelm her.

Somewhere around three—she was pretty sure it was three—Scout started getting more insistent, though, hands stroking further and further up her thighs, head tilting back harder. Soon enough she tilted to make eye contact with Sniper outright, pouting visibly. She shot Sniper with puppy-dog eyes, and she knew she was done for.

“Snipes, babe, c’mon,” Scout whined, shying away from Sniper’s hands a little, clearly oversensitive. “Your turn?”

“Dunno,” Sniper hummed, hands stroking up the expanse of Scout’s abdomen and back down again. “I’m rather enjoying this.”

“Could enjoy it some more,” Scout mumbled, bottom lip jutting out that much further.

Sniper shifted slightly.

Scout sighed, her eyes falling closed for a second. “Look, I get it, you feel kinda embarrassed. That’s okay. But I’m gonna feel really bad if I’m the only one that has any fun.” She made a soft noise as Sniper pinched just below her breast teasingly, eyebrows furrowing for a moment. “And I’m having fun, promise. I think I need a breather, though.”

Sniper considered that, tracing her hands against Scout a little while longer, more gently than before. “Alright,” she finally said, voice quiet.

Scout looked back up at her. “You’re sure?” she asked, clearly working hard at hiding the excitement from her voice.

“Just… don’t stare,” Sniper said, tone firm even as she hesitated, and Scout nodded quickly, and flipped around.

To her credit, she indeed didn’t stare, instead leaning in and kissing her firmly, hands finding her shoulders, then drifting down. Scout’s hands moved in steady gropes and squeezes against her, drifting alongside her attention and exploring with idle fascination even as she kissed Sniper absolutely silly.

Everything felt more electric. More… real. Just _more_.

“Fuck,” Scout mumbled between them, kissing at Sniper’s cheek, her ear. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, seriously. You’re sure you wanna date _me?_ ”

Sniper managed a laugh, relieved at Scout’s ability to cut through any given moment like butter, the overwhelming nature of everything fading back for a moment. “I could be asking you that,” was her reply, then she was jerking, gasping, as one of Scout’s hands dipped down between her thighs with intent.

Scout pulled back enough to look at her, and her gaze only drifted for a second before she caught herself and she instead locked eyes pointedly. “I, I know you’re kinda askin’ me not to look at you too much, but, I… I mean, I kinda wanna just slide down a little bit and go to town and some amount of that is gonna have to involve me lookin’ at you, so, I guess I just kinda wanted to ask—“

“Just bloody get on with it,” Sniper said, laughing a little, trying to ignore the fizz of nervousness bubbling away at the confidence she was trying to fake just then.

Scout nodded distractedly, and then she was down between Sniper’s legs, kneading at her thighs, and then Scout’s mouth was on her—

_Bugger_ , and she knew Scout was good at kissing and all, and had idly wondered if that skill could be applicable elsewhere, and now she knew with certainty that it could.

And usually this sort of thing wasn’t… well, any number of things happened, but generally Sniper would find herself getting antsy very quickly and wanting to shift to a more equal footing in terms of giving and receiving because she felt far too self-conscious, but just when that thought was starting to occur to her again despite Scout’s best efforts (and great enthusiasm), Scout was shifting back for a moment to breathe, to kiss at her thigh in a way that was almost sloppy and very, very self-satisfied, and…

And she was saying all sorts of things, all kinds of soft endearments, some of them more like dirty talk of course but mostly just words of absolute unadulterated affection, and it made her heart swell, and she didn’t feel so horribly aware of each individual flaw, each scar and mark and interruption on her skin, each place that previously she would find herself glaring at in the mirror and wishing was different, instead she was just aware of a feeling of ticklish warmth nestling deep into her chest and the desire for Scout to both keep talking and also to get back to what she’d been doing before.

She tangled fingers into Scout’s hair and pushed her back down again, and she took the hint without a moment’s hesitation, setting right back into work, mouth pressing mesmerizing rhythms into every sensitive point she could find.

It wasn’t until she was panting and relaxing, thighs trembling and chest heaving, Scout settling back up against her side again, that the self-consciousness returned, making her aware of the feeling of Scout’s hand kneading soothingly into her too-soft stomach, but she also felt so strangely at ease that she couldn’t seem to make herself care too much about it, instead just tilting her head and letting her lips trail a line down just beneath Scout’s jaw, nosing her hair aside to do so, starting to suck a mark when Scout made a pleased little noise over it.

“Was that good?” Scout asked, sounding satisfied on several different levels.

“Mmm,” Sniper hummed in agreement, a hand trailing up to grip at one breast idly and making Scout lean into her, giggling a little bit. “And you’re a damn sweet-talker when you like to be, princess.”

“It’s not hard to think of sweet stuff to say about you,” Scout teased, pinching her side lightly just to make her laugh. “I could write a fuckin’ book about it, swear to god.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sniper huffed, and kissed one more time before pulling back to look Scout in the eye. She looked terribly pleased with herself, and pleased in general, a mirror to the contentment making a nest in her own ribcage. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, brightening.

“Yeah. I feel… a little better,” she admitted. “I at least know you don’t plan on… on poking fun, or, or some other thing. I—I dunno what I expected, I… I’m just… I feel better now, is all.”

“I’m glad,” Scout said earnestly, kissing her soundly on one cheek.

Sniper hummed, looked her over, saw the subtle shifting she was doing and futilely trying to hide, the flush that was present across her skin, the heat of her. “…But you know what would make me feel _even better_ ,” she purred, nosing in at her neck again and drinking in her little gasp, “is if you laid back and let me return the favor. How’s that sound?”

Scout managed to choke out a breathless agreement, and that was that.

And frankly, getting a pretty girl to make as much noise as she managed, well, surely she was doing _something_ right.


	34. Sniper/Scout, Bottom!Sniper, No Strings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for general emotional turmoil and mention of internalized homophobia)

Two impacts could be heard, both loud enough that somewhere in the back of Sniper’s mind he was a little worried about them being heard and discovered, but the entire rest of his mind couldn’t be forced to give a damn.

The impact of the table against the wall, a resounding bang, in rhythm with the impact of hips against his ass, hard and unrelenting and so very pleasurable in a way that ended up reading as immensely infuriating.

He wanted to snap at the goddamn kid to hurry up, but the fact of the matter was that they had a total of twenty minutes and never needed more than fifteen and he wasn’t exactly worried about going over that time limit. For someone so deeply insecure in their sexuality, the Scout didn’t seem to have much of a problem plowing Sniper’s brains out. Putting a nice roll into each thrust that had him seeing scars and frantically trying to swallow down noises of pleasure.

No, he didn’t seem to have a problem with that. Just with sticking around for more than fifteen seconds before or after each encounter. Just with acting any different around anyone else. Just with kissing him, or being sweet, with any intimacy beyond the sex itself.

Sniper came from a small town, and being from a small town meant small town gossip. Meant that he learned from a young age exactly how to pick out what kind of people would be dubbed “bad news”. And Scout was that sort of person, he figured, probably even in the city he came from. Cocksure, crooked hat and even more crooked grin, bruised knuckles and popping gum too loud and putting his feet up on the table with his chair kicked back and laughing loudly like he was sure nobody would knock him back down a few pegs again. Brash and grinning with teeth that looked a little too sharp sometimes and eyes that glinted like a switchblade and tore into you twice as quick, that seemed to be able to see right into your head.

Where he came from, guys like Scout might end up talking to the girls at school, new ones who hadn’t had the chance to hear about him, and he’d hit them with that sharp smile and that cocksure laugh and they’d be smitten for all of ten minutes before some well-meaning older girl could come along and warn them that he was Bad News. That he would go ahead and play with their feelings and wind up leaving them heartbroken in the dust as soon as he found someone shinier and newer than them to play with.

The problem was, those well-meaning older girls never bothered to warn Sniper, and sure enough, here he was.

He rested his forehead against the surface of the table he was bent over, clutching and bracing at the edge of it with fingers that were starting to ache a little bit from strain, wishing he had a free hand to take hold of himself to try and get this over all the quicker, but at the same time he couldn’t, didn’t dare speed this up. They still had plenty of time and to be honest, once a week hurriedly between matches was starting to be nowhere near enough.

Scout had shoved up his undershirt shortly after he bent Sniper over the table, and was having a lovely time nipping and sucking marks into the exposed skin there, and it sent shudders through Sniper, made him rock back all the more forcefully for the few moments he could work up the strength to do so under the assault of pleasure he was being faced with.

He crushed his eyes shut hard against the fantasy that again tried to crowd into view, of doing this on a bed instead of hidden away in some other part of the map, of being able to groan and call out his pleasure rather than stifling it. It was easier to push down and away with the feeling of the sandy grime of the table under his forehead, the sound of Scout snarling a curse against his backbone, the taste of blood there in his mind’s periphery as he distantly registered that he’d bitten down on his lip hard enough to bleed, and he exhaled shakily through his nose.

His eyes snapped open when Scout cursed again, hips rolling to a stop.

“Okay, this isn’t workin’. This is fuckin’ awkward. The table’s way too low,” Scout said decisively, which Sniper only processed distantly, agreed with in a way that was foggy and unclear. Admittedly, the table _was_ low, and with his legs quickly turning to jelly it had gotten uncomfortable in a way that he could only notice once Scout had relented for a moment. “Just hold on a sec.”

And then he’s empty in a way that makes him groan, and Scout moved to yank one of his legs free of his pants where they’d been pulled down to just around his knees in their haste, and then the breath was knocked out of him with the surprise of being flipped over onto his back, and Scout hoisted his legs up and pushed right back in again.

No, this is new, and startling. They never did this facing each other, in much the same way that they never talked about it, in the same way that Scout never kissed. And Sniper distantly knew that some part of this was probably Bad News, but in the same way that it didn’t warn him far away from Scout in the very first place, it couldn’t seem to break the spell that’s come over him, because all at once, he can see Scout’s face.

There’s a flush to his cheeks, a haziness to his eyes, a heaviness to his breathing, a headiness to the way he was staring at Sniper. And Sniper tried to brace on the table again under the assault of pleasure and the sudden slam of emotion that was hitting him, but he couldn’t reach anywhere near easily, and wound up instead clinging to his arms.

The pleasure building was enormous and terrifying all at once, and Scout briefly leaned in to nip at his chest, almost unconsciously, mindlessly, and one of Sniper’s hands fell to grip at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

And he remembered that usually Scout didn’t let him touch his hair, was usually pretty defensive of it, but it was so soft, so very soft. And Scout pulled back to look at him again, breathing hard, flushed, hazy, heady, desperate, demanding. And his face was sweaty, and his eyes were a baby blue deeper than the entire desert sky, and his hair was sweaty, but still it was so very soft.

So very—

He came hard, jolting, the moment Scout reached between them and touched him, nearly pulling a muscle with the force of it, arching and not succeeding in choking back his groan as he came. And he felt Scout’s desperate swearing more than heard it, couldn’t have over the rush of blood in his ears, felt it as air across the sweat of his chest and collarbones and neck.

“Fuck,” Scout managed, voice cracking, when it was over.

When Sniper managed to force his eyes open, Scout had already mopped off his stomach, taken off the condom and disposed of it somewhere, was getting his pants back into place and his shirt tucked back in correctly.

Sniper’s hands were shaking terribly as he hurriedly tried to do up the buttons of his shirt once his pants were on right, and Scout, despite having less to set into order, was taking a while to get back to looking like normal, fumbling and hesitating so much more than usual, adjusting and re-adjusting. Sniper realized on the last button that he’d done them up one off and just gave up on them entirely with a frustrated little sigh, shrugging his vest on and casting about for his hat, aware that he only had about two minutes until they needed to be back on their way and ready to fight again.

It appeared under his nose as Scout held it out to him, and more surprisingly, held his gaze.

“Uh,” Scout said, and Sniper froze up, staring at him, because this didn’t happen. During their… routine crossing of paths, Scout never said anything to him if he could help it. But now he was. “I, uh,” Scout continued, visibly searching for his words. “I’m sorry if I… got a little rough there for a second. I got a little carried away.”

“S’fine,” Sniper mumbled, almost automatically, even as he carefully took his hat and put it on. Scout was wringing his own cap between his hands once he had the chance, and broke their gazes, instead looking off to one side. His hair was sticking up a bit on one side where Sniper had gripped at it, and his eyes were stormy. “You didn’t… mean to.”

Then Scout looked back up at him, then down at his collar, and reached for it. Sniper assumed for a moment that he was trying to straighten it out, maybe, but then Scout took hold of it.

And pulled on it, making him bend down.

And then Scout was kissing him, soft and chaste, almost too soft for what they’d just done. Soft enough that it didn’t hurt his lip where he’d bitten it bloody. Soft enough that Sniper processed the lack of air before the feeling of the kiss itself. Soft enough that it was hard to tell where it ended and where it began.

Then Scout fell back onto the flat of his feet, and let go of his shirt, and his eyes fell off to one side again.

“Yeah, well, I’m still sorry,” he managed, shrugged a little, aimless.

Then he pulled his hat on over that crooked hair, flashed Sniper a too-straight, too-tight little smile, and went on his way.


	35. Engineer/Spy, Polite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Spy didn’t even realize how hard he was clenching his fists until he heard the leather creak and realized his knuckles were aching.

To be honest, he’d half expected it to be more of an endurance thing. That it’d get turned on and he’d just be expected to ride through it until the Engineer was good and ready to end his silly little game and get on with it. But that didn’t seem to be the direction things were going in.

Because first of all, the Engineer was fiddling with the remote for the thing every few minutes, switching up rhythm and speed and force what seemed to be entirely at random.

And second of all, it had been—and he hadn’t even been checking his watch, wasn’t entirely sure, but it felt like hours, and had probably been at least forty minutes of this, and he wasn’t even looking at Spy all that much besides cursory glances every now and then before promptly returning to what he was working on—the sketch on a blueprint, it seemed, something that required an amount of focus.

He’d started this little game pretty cocky, because he was good at this sort of thing, at ignoring physical urges and keeping a cool head in situations that other people would be entirely distracted by. But some combination of all of this, of the sensation plus the presence of his lover plus the pressure of it being some kind of game, plus the fact that the aforementioned lover was ignoring him plus the idea crowding into frame that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t read the game correctly and something else was going on, well, it was pulling him apart.

He’d started out with good posture and nonchalance and a smirk that he damn well knew was charming and could send shivers through anyone he chose, composed and flirtatious and unaffected. But forty minutes in, his posture had crumpled, and he was sweating and overheated, his shirt clinging to his skin, his pants entirely uncomfortable, his knees trembling a little bit.

The only thing the Engineer had told him to do was get his clothes back in order and to keep his hands up above the table. And he’d glanced up exactly twice when Spy had moved them, once to adjust his tie and once to tug on his mask to make it sit a bit more comfortably. He knew he wouldn’t get away with sneaking them below the table to make himself more comfortable in any sense of the word.

He stared hard at the Engineer, and the Engineer didn’t even look at him.

He broke somewhere around minute forty-five.

“How much longer is this going to take?” he asked flatly.

He hummed. “Probably somethin’ like an hour or two, haven’t blocked out much besides the general shape,” he replied, tapping some part of the blueprint for emphasis.

Spy clenched his fists. “That isn’t what I meant,” he deadpanned.

The Engineer looked up at him, finally, and Spy felt all the more aware of what a mess he probably looked like. “Oh, right,” he said, as if he’d forgotten, even as he clicked a button and the rhythm shifted again, making a muscle in Spy’s jaw shift. “Well. Guess that depends on a couple of things.”

“Such as?” Spy asked, voice tight.

“You sayin’ you give up?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why the Engineer phrased it like that, only that doing so made him immediately shake his head, maybe a touch too quickly. The Engineer nodded, and returned to his work.

Five minutes passed before a Spy spoke again. “Dell, what exactly is the point of this game?” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Not sure what you mean, darlin’,” he hummed, drawing a line with precision and care using a ruler.

“I’m getting extremely frustrated,” Spy said outright.

“Mm-hmm,” Engie hummed.

“I would very much like to get to whatever happens next,” he said, even more outright, stressing his words.

His focus was swimming so much that somehow he hadn’t noticed the Engineer’s other hand drifting to take hold of the remote again, first and foremost feeling the vibrations cease altogether.

A breath of relief as for a few wonderful moments he thought that the Engineer was moving things along. But after a few seconds, a minute, two minutes, Spy felt confused.

The Engineer looked up at him, adjusted his goggles. “Want me to turn it back on?” he asked calmly, coolly.

The frustration flared back up in an instant. “I _want_ for you to _touch me_ ,” Spy all but snapped.

“I know you do. But you don’t get that yet. So do you want me to turn it back on?” he asked, and underneath the calm in his tone and the softness of his voice was a hard edge that sent a shiver down Spy’s back, made him swallow hard.

He hesitated for only a few seconds before he nodded. His head fell as the toy turned back on, thrumming to life and setting his nerve endings aflame.

The short break made the sudden flood of pleasure all the more potent, made him have to fight not to make any kind of noise. And even then he exhaled shakily, eyes screwing shut hard, heartbeat thrumming.

A minute or so later he was already feeling that desperation creeping back into view, making him wish he could at least lower his hands to undo his belt to get a little more comfortable. But even just flexing and curling his hands to try and distract himself gained the Engineer’s attention, his head tilting just slightly for a moment towards him until the movement stopped.

“When will this game be over?” he finally snapped, working hard to keep his voice filled with annoyance and not pleading.

“That depends,” was the level, easygoing reply, and a click, and the rhythm of the toy shifted again, making Spy bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

“On what?” Spy demanded.

“On whether you’re gonna behave,” Engie said, turning his head to look at Spy.

Alright, he knew this one. “And what exactly is it that you want me to do?” he asked, voice dropping to a purr, even if it was a little unsteady, a little breathless.

The Engineer hummed, started tidying up his workspace a little, putting pencils and rulers and erasers back where they belonged. Once it was reasonably tidied, he looked back over. “I want you to quit mouthin’ off so much to the team,” he said, and Spy blinked.

He laughed incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” he managed. “All of this over—“

“You’re bein’ a real menace,” the Engineer interrupted, cutting Spy off cold. “Usually it’s just a snide comment here and there, but lately you’ve really been hitting the team hard. Makin’ a damn fool out of everyone, belittling people—hell, I’d call it outright bullying. And what you’re gonna do now, after tonight, is stop that.”

“Or what?” Spy couldn’t help but challenge.

“I guess you’ll see,” he shrugged.

Spy huffed. “Am I supposed to be scared?” he teased.

The vibrator shut off.

He blinked. Shifted. Held eye contact even as his eyebrows furrowed.

There was a long pause before the Engineer spoke, and when he did, he was still casual, conversational even. “That was a bit rude, darlin’. Ought to apologize,” he prompted.

Spy sneered, even as he shifted, weighted his options. Ultimately, his head didn’t win out. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he said, flippant, only to become significantly less flippant as his apology was rewarded with the toy being switched back on.

Then the Engineer was standing up, rounding the table. Spy turned to meet him, but was flipped right back around again, wrists pinned to the tabletop with one hand, the Engineer’s broad chest pressing into his back and trapping him even further in place. “You sorry for makin’ fools of the team?” he asked.

Spy managed to gather his thoughts enough to consider his options. “…And what do I get if I apologize?” he prompted.

“You’ll see,” the Engineer said.

“And if I don’t?”

“You already know that one,” he said, meaningfully turning the remote around in his free hand.

Spy scowled. “Ugh. _Oui_ , I’m sorry.”

The remote was placed on the tabletop—within his reach, although he’d never be able to grab it with his wrists pinned—and the Engineer’s hand trailed down his abdomen and to his pants, and made quick—if slightly rough—work of getting them open. He sighed in relief, extremely pleased with this turn of events, even if the Engineer didn’t touch him much beyond that. Just that much was a blessing.

“You sorry for acting like an ass to everyone?” the Enginner prompted.

“ _Oui_ ,” Spy answered easily enough, not much meaning behind the words, more easily giving over into the pleasure once the pressure and immense discomfort of his pants was resolved.

His reward was the Engineer helping him pull his pants a little way down his legs, freeing him outright, and he gave a gaspy little noise at it, rocking forward slightly when he was able.

“And are you sorry for being so damn mean?” the Engineer asked next.

“I suppose,” Spy joked.

Silence, stillness. “I beg your pardon?” the Engineer asked, squeezing his wrists slightly, almost threateningly.

“If it moves along the game, then I suppose,” Spy teased, trying to glance over his shoulder.

The Engineer was quiet for a moment, then he was moving—except he was pulling Spy’s clothes back on, movements rough.

Spy was shaken from the euphoria, blinking, startled as he realized what was happening. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to move on from this ridiculous game?” he tried, a little frustrated.

The Engineer moved the remote out of reach and released Spy’s wrists long enough to do his pants back up, absolutely no care or gentleness in the motion.

“Ow, _ow!_ Dell!” he yelped, indignant. “Fine, fine! I’m sorry!”

Stillness again. He steadied himself with a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I apologize,” he repeated, tone uneven, well shaken.

“Good,” the Engineer said quietly, and moved to undress him again. Spy only got to relax for a moment, though, before he spoke again. “But if you’re gonna misbehave like that, I might need somethin’ to help me…”

Spy was left alone for only a moment, only long enough to have an internal argument about whether he was allowed to turn around and see what was going on. Then his arms were being pulled behind his back and tied together, and this time both of the Engineer’s hands were free to torment him.

They traced meaningfully up Spy’s chest, left somewhat vulnerable when his arms were tied. “You said you were sorry for being so mean to everyone?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Spy nodded, too keyed up to argue the point again, and was rewarded with his tie being pulled off and his jacket and dress shirt being undone and left to hang open.

A moment’s thought from the Engineer, tracing over his undershirt. “The suits themselves are expensive, but not so much the undershirt and all that,” he said, only partially a question.

Spy nodded hesitantly, distractedly.

In one motion, he siezed the undershirt in both hands and ripped it clean open.

Spy cried out, alarmed, before he realized what had happened and relaxed again, muscle by muscle, heart absolutely pounding as the moment of fear resolved itself as absolute lust in the aftermath, his face heating up bright red.

“You gonna keep acting like a damn menace to the team?” the Engineer prompted, hands smoothing up Spy’s freshly-bared chest.

He swallowed hard. “Dell, please. I would like for this game to be over,” he said, voice breaking a little bit as his desperation reached its boiling point.

“That’s not an answer, doll.”

Spy steadied himself with a deep breath. “Fine. Yes, I’ll be civil.”

“You’ll be good?” he was prompted, and he shivered bodily.

“I’ll be good,” Spy agreed, head hanging.

“Prove it. Say please.”

The flood of conflicting emotions resolved as a kind of overload, his arms starting to tremble a bit. “Please,” he said, terribly quiet.

The toy shut off.

Spy immediately began to struggle against his bonds. “Oh, come _on_ , I said it, I said I was sorry, I apologized, I-I said _please_ , what more do you want from me—?!” he began to protest, outright desperate.

“Hush, hush,” the Engineer was quick to say, urging him to stand, to bend over the table. “Toy just ran out of power is all, darlin’, you did good. You did real good.”

Spy couldn’t quite bite back his moan as the toy was pulled free of his body and set aside, and god, it looked so small there on the table, and yet it had pulled him apart so effortlessly. “Dell,” he managed, voice shaky but still full of warning.

“I know,” he said, voice teasing, and then Spy was full again, this time of three thick fingers, gloved and slick, and any further complaints were pushed right out of view as he was pushed back open and slicked back up. “Think you can hold out long enough for me to get in?”

Spy had to think hard about it, could only distantly register his own heaving chest for a few moments. “I—I am not, sure,” he managed between panting, and cried out sharply as he got the first firm touch of that night in exactly the right place, and after so long of teasing it was almost too much for him to handle, too much pleasure making his toes curl in their shoes. “I-I-I—“

He was gently shushed again by a hand petting over his back, and his fingers moved softer and more slowly from then on, drawing out his pleasure in gentle throbs rather than in lightning bolts, a tide on the shoreline instead of being hit by a truck or three.

He wasn’t entirely sure that he was making sense anymore, could feel words exiting his mouth and could hear them being said, but he couldn’t process them on any level. He just heard the Engineer responding to them with praises and affirmations, and it drew him up higher and higher.

“Dell, _please_ ,” he managed, fighting hard to say it through the haze he’d fallen into, voice wavering.

“I’ve got you, doll, I’ve got you,” he assured, and then the Engineer reached around in front of him to tug him off, also so gently, so aware of how close he was to being entirely overwhelmed, and when he finally came it took him a few moments afterwards to remember how to breathe.

He was a model teammate in the following few days, at least until he was sure that the Engineer had probably had enough time to charge that toy again.


	36. Demo/Sniper/Scout, Hairy (Trans!Scout)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for discussion of dysphoria and non-graphic PIV sex, i understand that not all trans men are comfortable with that but when i headcanon scout as trans i also tend to headcanon him not being particularly prone to most kinds of body dysphoria and having a generally positive self-image overall. just wanted to be clear on that)

Overall, Scout felt pretty nice. With his two guys, fresh off of dinner and just a little bit buzzed, squished between the two of them all cozy and stuff, and Sniper was playing with his hair and Demo was telling some story about a dumb kid he knew in school and stuff was overall just real nice.

And of course his stupid brain had to come along and ruin it by making him think about sad shit.

They were in Demo’s room since he was the only one of them who was smart enough to get a big mattress. Scout had Sniper’s arm just sort of thrown over across him, he and Demo’s hands intertwined on Scout’s stomach, and he just kinda looked at them for a minute. He thought it was kinda neat just seeing all the little details there, how Demo kept his hands cleaner but his nails were longer, Sniper’s clipped way short but still just a bit dusty. Or maybe that was just his callouses and some weird tanning sort of thing going on, who could say? Demo’s hands always kind of ran warm, and Sniper’s always kind of ran chilly, and Scout would go way warm or cold depending on the day, super susceptible to temperature because he was such a skinny little fuck.

Maybe that’s what he was staring about. Looking at their arms, it was made all the more clear how much scrawnier Scout was. It wasn’t even like Sniper was a particularly buff guy, he could be described as “in-shape” at _best_ , but he was still just… _bigger_ than Scout.

And the other thing, he realized, was that man, Demo and Sniper were both pretty fuzzy dudes. Hair on their arms and legs and all across their chests, Demo with a pretty nice beard and Sniper with almost a beard on accident.

Wham, just like that, like a bat to the temple, self-consciousness, self-doubt. Because that was just one of those little tiny things that Scout would get super insecure about all the goddamn time. Just the little tiny differences. Like the slightly different jaw, the slightly longer eyelashes, the slightly different build. And Scout was lucky, he knew that, because he was tall, and he knew how to work out to build his muscles so he could pass pretty easily in that regard, and his chest wasn’t anything to brag about to start with let alone when he started binding.

But the lack of facial hair, and the hair everywhere else on his body being kind of pale and nothing, and his scrawnier arms, it just…

He exhaled slowly, letting his eyes fall closed. Okay, he needed to slow down and take a breath. Here he was, squished between his two favorite guys on the planet, and who just so happened to be willing to date him and sleep with him on a regular basis, and who were also really hot, and he was getting all up in his own head over nothing. It was dumb. He needed to quit it.

But his brain kept cycling him through it, again and again, and it was Sniper who eventually pulled him out of it.

At some point he’d started playing with the hair on Sniper’s arm, just sort of fiddling, pushing his fingertips across his forearm idly, and Sniper tilted his head to watch him do so. That made Scout suddenly aware that he was doing it, and he faltered for a second, but he continued anyways, even as it made his thoughts a little harder to ignore when doing it consciously.

“One day, love,” Sniper said quietly, and Scout looked up at him, a little wide-eyed with surprise. Sniper smiled a little. “You’ve been doing that for about twenty minutes and staring off into space like you’re waiting for your spouse to come back from the war, love, it was a pretty easy guess to make,” he elaborated.

Scout looked back down and away. Chewed on his lip and his words.

“Is it, like,” Scout started, and had to pause for a second to think of how to word it right. “Is it ever,

y’know, weird? How I’m all… smooth and stuff? And not fuzzy like you guys?”

“Not particularly,” Demo shrugged, the shift minute since Scout could feel it. “Not a big difference.”

“I’ve met plenty of blokes who shave or wax anyways to look nice for other blokes, you’re a good few steps more hairy than them,” Sniper added.

Scout nodded slowly. “…And the… you’ve already said all the other stuff isn’t weird,” he said carefully.

“Aye,” Demo agreed.

Scout was quiet again for a few seconds.

Sniper stopped playing with his hair and removed his hand entirely, and Scout went to complain about it, but was surprised into staying quiet by Sniper rolling to prop himself up over Scout, looking down at him. “Love, are we not telling you enough how handsome you are?” Sniper teased.

Scout flushed. “You tell me plenty,” he mumbled, glancing off.

Sniper took hold of his chin and tilted him back to face him, mouth very very close to his own. “Could tell you more.”

“Could show you more,” Demo agreed, finding a place to wrap his arm over around Scout, kissing at the space under his ear and making him shiver lightly.

“I—guys, it’s fine,” he protested, but it was weak and halfhearted, because Sniper promptly moved to the other side of his neck to nip and kiss, following Demo’s lead. “I-I-I don’t need the… the extra sort of, the…”

He kept trailing off as his breath caught, the two of them being extremely distracting when they wanted to be. He jumped lightly when Demo pinched him lightly on the side, and heard the rumbly little chuckle of amusement that the motion got him.

They finished off getting him properly distracted, Demo parting with one last hard kiss on the lips, and then they were both just grinning down at him, leaving him there probably looking like a complete mess, spots on his neck surely starting to redden.

“Handsome,” Sniper observed simply.

“Gorgeous,” Demo agreed, and gave him another peck for good measure.

Scout’s face was on fire.

“…Well what are you gonna do about it?” he finally prompted impatiently, shifting a little.

Chuckles from both of them, and then they were in motion, starting to strip.

Scout took off his own briefs and the tank he used to bind when they were off work, and mostly just set to distracting Demo as the other tried to get out of his own clothes, much simpler than his uniform but more challenging when Scout was hanging off of him and kissing him absolutely silly.

Sniper pulled Scout off of Demo and back into his lap to free up Demo’s attention for a moment, and Scout’s breath caught as he felt a bare chest against his back and bare thighs under his own. Sniper kneaded at his thigh idly and tucked his head in to nose just under Scout’s ear and speak. “How d’you feel like doing this, love?” he asked softly, sentence punctuated by a little kiss. “Feels like it’s gonna be your night tonight, that sound right, Tavish?”

A sound of agreement from Demo as he struggled free of his shirt. Scout chewed on his lip and thought a little, shifting his weight back against Sniper and enjoying the way Sniper steadied him with arms wrapped around his waist, the hardness beneath him, situated in such a way that he had to really roll his hips down hard to apply any kind of real pressure and make Sniper exhale softly against his neck.

“I dunno, you could fuck me, maybe,” Scout suggested idly, rolling down against him again for emphasis.

Sniper considered that. “We got any rubbers, Tavish?” he asked, and Demo paused where he was pulling free of the last of his clothing, thinking.

“…Should,” he confirmed, moving to the bedside table to check, and coming up with a few foil squares a second later triumphantly.

“Alright then,” Sniper nodded, kissed at Scout’s neck some more. “Who d’you want for what then, love?”

“You fuck me, just like this, I suck Demo off,” Scout decided, eyeing up the bomb-maker in question as he joined them on the bed again, now naked and smiling a bit as he passed over the condoms to Sniper.

“Sounds good to me,” Demo agreed, and pulled Scout in with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss him, other hand drifting over his thigh and guiding him up into a kneeling position to give Sniper room.

Then there was a pair of fingers drifting along the inside of Scout’s thigh, moving between his legs to tease him for a few long moments before Sniper was slicking them up and slipping them inside with relative ease. Scout moaned softly against Demo’s mouth, earning a chuckle.

“Lovely thing,” Demo teased, both hands stroking over his thighs as they started to tremble under the force of Sniper’s fingers moving into and against him in throbbing waves, a skill afforded by experience he’d only gained since he’d gotten with Scout, but fuck, he’d really learned a lot in a short period of time, knew exactly what Scout liked, knew his tells, knew when he could add another finger, knew when he could pull his fingers out altogether and guide Scout back down into his lap carefully, carefully, and Scout was grateful that Demo had the foresight to get lubed condoms because the slide was _so_ nice as he sank down.

Demo pulled back to let Scout moan and curse and make all sorts of noise, visibly admiring the show as Scout rolled and shifted his hips to try and find a good angle, Sniper muffling soft noises into his shoulder. A long few moments were spent with Scout trying desperately to get used to the feeling, only to be thrown off his rhythm as he found a good angle, then again as Sniper rolled his hips gently and the pressure shifted, then again as Demo pulled him back into a kiss.

“Gorgeous,” Sniper murmured against the top of his vertebrae, kissing there lightly, breathless. “Gorgeous thing.”

“You’re—“ Scout started to say, but it was cut off by a shaky sigh as Demo nipped at his bottom lip playfully, Sniper mirroring the motion against his backbone.

In no time at all, he was shifting his legs slightly to get comfortable and starting to move, a gentle up-and-down, barely exerting himself with how extremely fit he was, himself doing most of the work with Sniper rolling along when he could.

And Scout was lost in sensation for a little while, and Demo had been making himself busy lying a series of hickies all up one side of his neck, so he was a little surprised and largely pleased when he blinked his eyes open and saw that Demo had a hand around himself as he took in the view the two of them made. And once he realized that, Scout didn’t waste time nudging his hand aside to try and take over, and then he was being treated to the always-lovely experience of being caught between the two of them, all giving and taking pleasure as well as they could with their brains getting increasingly scrambled.

And Scout could vaguely remember having said something about sucking off Demo, but every time he tried to pull his hand away so they could readjust, Demo mumbled some vague complaint and urged him back into place again. And somewhere along the way Demo slid a hand down his stomach to toy with him in much the same way he was being toyed with, and then all motion was kicking up a notch—

Sniper was done first, surprisingly, swearing through gritted teeth, pulling out midway through as he shuddered through aftershocks that seemed to drag on and on. Scout gasped, and found himself desperate and just a little bit demanding. But man, he really did get lucky enough to find two guys who were real hot _and_ pretty smart, because when Sniper had finally settled down a little Demo had already rolled on a condom and was urging Scout into his lap instead, and he exhaled with relief as he sank down again, mouth locking together with Demo’s as soon as he could get the breath for it, Demo working a hand back down between them to then work at Scout as best he could as the other lifted and rolled Scout with very little effort involved.

And at that point they were both worked along to the point where it barely took any time at all before Scout was trying to muffle himself into Demo’s neck—yes he got loud in bed, no he couldn’t help it, even if he tended to be the one the team then took potshots at over breakfast for being a noise complaint. And Demo was there too, swearing in a choked voice and breathing hard.

Actually, they both were breathing pretty hard. And Scout felt ever-so-slightly steamrolled and extremely pleased with himself and the state of the world around them. And he found himself playing with the abundance of hair across Demo’s chest as he came back down, melting into a nice little puddle in his lap and humming, gone soft and relaxed.

“Handsome,” Demo quipped, kissing at the side of his head, and Scout couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of a beard rasping against his hair.

“Feeling better?” Sniper prompted, and Scout could only hum for a moment, still a little overwhelmed. That got a chuckle out of the both of them.

“Must’ve done something right, aye?” Demo asked, and Scout heard the two of them sharing a brief kiss over his shoulder, and that got him to grin all the more.

“You guys are the best,” Scout decided, mumbly but pleased.

A hum of agreement. “…Y’know that, er, thing you tend to do? Where I’ll be acting like an absolute bugger and mouthing off and you make me go eat lunch and then suddenly everything’s all better because I wasn’t in a bad mood, I was just hungry?” Sniper asked.

Scout hummed in agreement.

“Think this might be that for you,” Sniper concluded, smoothing hands down Scout’s sides, and Scout leaned into it. “A little attention and all’s right with the world, seems like.”

Demo cupped his chin and tilted his face up to kiss at his cheek, and Scout was sure he was grinning like a total dope, but he couldn’t help it. “More attention might be just what the doctor ordered,” he agreed. “That sound right to you, lad?”

Scout hummed in agreement, melting back forward into Demo’s chest again.

“Alright, lovely as you are you ought to get up so we can mop up, doll,” Demo urged, and helped shift Scout up and out of his lap gently. “Made a damn mess of you, would like to avoid ruining the sheets.”

“Shower?” Sniper asked, pulling Scout to his feet.

“Shower,” Scout agreed.

And maybe it was just that Scout had been a little pent-up and it was doing things to his head. Or maybe it was that the two of them were excellent at comforting him in any way he could when those doubts started to spring up. Either way, he found it really hard to be worried about something as simple as him being less hairy than your bog-standard guy off the street when he had Sniper playing and helping to wash his hair and Demo humming more gentle compliments into his ear and bickering quietly with Sniper over nothing important.


	37. Sniper/Scout, Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for bladder desperation and watersports, dom/sub undertones and humiliation, however NO warnings for bad hygiene)

Scout couldn’t be bothered to hold back the embarrassing little noises he was making, his self-control and concentration entirely occupied elsewhere.

Sniper must’ve been in a good mood, because usually he didn’t indulge Scout this much. In the showers of the locker room long after everyone else had already left, hands pinned up above his head and body pinned practically flat against the wall by Sniper’s body, a hand around his dick and pumping, not too fast or slow, just a nice meandering pull and twist that set him to gasping, air a little harder to come by when pressed up against the wall of a shower. It was nice, *so* nice, enough that either Sniper was having a really good day and wanted to give him something, or he was going to get Scout to do something and wanted to butter him up a little bit first.

And for the first ten minutes of the extended tease it felt great, felt amazing, Sniper growling absolute filth into his ear, degrading kinds of filth, purring things that Scout would commit murder over if some stranger tried to say them to him in a bar or other public place, but from the guy he was fucking on a regular basis it felt good in a way he couldn’t exactly put into words. It ramped up the pleasure to eleven, made his hips jerk, made him shiver against the hot water still dripping down his back. And with the way Sniper was grinding against his ass he knew it was something that got him off just as much, and *shit* but he wanted Sniper to fuck him.

But he wasn’t exactly prepared for that—Sniper had kinda jumped him a little bit, caught him by surprise just as he was about to get a shower after his nightly run. That meant he didn’t have lube or anything, and he’d been fucked by Sniper enough times to know that lube was an absolute necessity.

So he tamped down on begging for that, even as his desperation grew, for ten, twenty minutes of continuous teasing from Sniper. But by the twenty minute mark he was starting to realize a problem.

He really, really needed to piss. And he’d originally figured he could take his shower and then take care of it when he was getting ready for bed or whatever, and then when Sniper had jumped him he figured he could get off and then take care of it during clean-up, but Sniper showed absolutely no signs of letting up, and it was starting to get pretty uncomfortable, especially as he started thinking about it, and he’d been really getting close to the edge but the discomfort was piling on and pushing the finish line back and fuck, shit, damn it, no!

“Snipes, hurry the *fuck* up,” Scout mumbled, shoving back against him with what little leverage he had for emphasis, and Sniper shoved right back, trapping him more firmly and slowing down his strokes.

“Why’s that?” Sniper asked, voice a hum.

“I—I—“ It was pretty hard to think, to be honest. “—I wanna come, just fuckin’, *c’mon*,” he tried, even as his voice wavered.

“Something wrong?” Sniper asked next, and nipped at his ear hard enough to sting, to make Scout whimper and shy away.

“I wanna—I—c’mon, please,” Scout tried, struggling a little harder.

“Usually it doesn’t take much more than this to get you off,” Sniper said, and squeezed a bit harder for a moment just to wrench a moan out of him to demonstrate. “There a problem?”

“N-no, just, I n-need—faster, more, *c’mon*,” he all but whimpered, face burning bright red.

“Sweet’eart,” Sniper said, and there was that hard edge in his voice that always made Scout weak in the knees, “just *tell me*. I can feel you shaking.”

And he was right, Scout was starting to tremble, discomfort and pleasure and desperation making his body shiver and jerk. “I gotta fuckin’—I gotta piss, Snipes,” he finally admitted, all in a rush.

Sniper hummed. “That’s a real shame,” he drawled, and Scout realized with a jolt that Sniper *knew*.

“Fuckin’—just hurry up,” he demanded again.

Sniper hummed.

His hand sped up a bit, and Scout exhaled and relaxed, going almost limp against the wall, content to groan and gasp his pleasure like that. But as the minutes stretched on his eyebrows furrowed and he started going tense again, because Sniper’s hand was slowing down and the pressure was only growing and making him more uncomfortable.

“*Snipes*,” he gritted out, a little upset with how whimpery he sounded.

“Can’t help but wonder, you must be getting pretty desperate by now,” Sniper said, tone light, uncaring. “Must practically hurt.”

It did. He didn’t even know which part hurt more, how badly he needed to finish or how badly he needed to piss, he just registered pain and discomfort. So he whined in agreement, sinking a bit further.

“So I wonder, which do you want more?” Sniper asked, hand slowing down even further, and Scout jerked in his hold.

He didn’t know. He really didn’t know.

“Well?” Sniper prompted when he just kept gasping and making little barely-there noises. “You don’t get either until I get an answer. I can keep you here like this for as long as I’d like.”

Scout groaned outright, hands clenched tight, and he tried to squeeze his thighs together only to find that Sniper had thought ahead of him and had his own thigh there between his. He fought the hands on his wrists for a second before giving up on that too, unable to get any leverage.

“I-I-I-I—“ he stammered, voice weak and defeated, trying to collect himself enough to speak. “I gotta piss.” It hurt, the discomfort was far too much, he’d never get off like this.

Sniper hummed in vague surprise, then tsk’d. “Not until you come,” he said, and then his hand sped.

Scout writhed, protesting, his whole body trembling steadily. He couldn’t come like this, he couldn’t, he was gonna explode, it hurt, he couldn’t—

—Could he?

When he finally came it was largely unsatisfying, borderline forced, too short and Sniper’s hand squeezing far too tight, but a few moments later he started going soft and then the relief hit, moaning outright, sinking against the wall and letting go. He felt a full-body flush as liquid—warmer than the water of the shower—met his feet, and he hung his head what amount he was able, feeling dirty and humiliated, moreso by the fact that Sniper hadn’t even released him from his hand yet.

And… weird. Odd.

Sniper was kissing a little path up his neck, silent, giving him a few moments to recover. When his breathing finally started to slow, Sniper released his wrists and pulled him to stand under the shower, turning him around to hold him. Scout melted into it, hiding in Sniper’s neck, still burning up and fighting with the series of emotions coursing through him.

“Good?” Sniper asked idly after a few moments.

He thought about it, and surprisingly quickly came to the conclusion of…

“Yeah,” he mumbled, nodding a bit. “Good.”

A little chuckle from Sniper, who ran a hand up through his wet hair. “I’m glad. Up for another round, or is that it for you?”

Scout thought about it. “…Might be it,” he admitted, taking stock of how wiped out he felt. “I can blow you, though, if you want.”

Sniper pushed down on his shoulders.


	38. Sniper/Scout, Tight Pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Okay, to be fair, Scout knew that the pants were probably too tight.

One unfortunate side-effect of seven older brothers was literally _all_ your clothes being hand-me-downs unless it was something that absolutely needed to fit correctly. And him being generally less broad and tall than his brothers (bunch of meatheads, all of them) meant just having to squeeze into clothes they’d all worn when they were a lot younger, and so they fit him in some ways and not in others.

Since he’d gotten his mercenary job he’d gone to the work of getting some new clothes that _actually_ fit him. Shirts and pants and shoes and socks and everything. And he looked good in them, too, and would put them on whenever he went off base, either drinking with the guys or alone to pick up chicks or whatever other excuse he could get because he had to be in uniform so much of the rest of the time.

But the thing was, he’d been stupid busy with all sorts of dumb shit and kept forgetting to wash his normal-people clothes, so he was left with the last of his clothes, and he really wanted to wear this one shirt and only this one pair of pants wouldn’t look straight up stupid with it and so he had to wear them even though they were kinda small on him.

And as he’d been walking over to meet with Sniper to go out on what wasn’t _technically_ a date and was _technically_ just two coworkers getting a couple of drinks on the weekend, he’d realized that, okay, no, they were _really_ small on him. And he was kind of tempted to go and change, but he was a little late anyways to the time he said he was going to be there and he didn’t want to be even _more_ late from having to change into something else.

And Sniper wasn’t even ready yet when he got there, he was in a pair of pants and socks and toweling off from a shower and promised to be ready in a few minutes’ time. And Scout shrugged and leaned on the little counter and flipped through the magazine Sniper had there—some hunting magazine, but there were some cool guns in there at least—and he was startled out of his zoning out by a wolf-whistle from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sniper grinning a little, eyes darting from his face down towards his legs and back up again as he sat on the bed, steadily lacing up his boots. He rolled his eyes, even as he started to flush. “Shut the fuck up,” he deadpanned, shifting a little bit and looking away.

“How’d you even squeeze into those?” Sniper asked, chuckling.

“Look, they—they used to fit better,” he said defensively, which was true. When he’d first joined the team, they were only a little bit small on him. But since then he’d gained weight both in muscle mass and in body fat, even if it was only slightly, and apparently it all went to his thighs and ass.

“Didn’t say it looked _bad_ ,” Sniper said, and there was still a grin in his voice, and Scout heard the mattress squeak as he got to his feet. “Just not entirely sure I want to even bring you out in pants this tight. Firstly, some other bloke might get ideas.”

“Gonna start a brawl over some tight pants, Snipes?” Scout teased, flicking the page on the magazine.

He squeaked as he felt a pair of hands on his ass, freezing up a little in his surprise. “Maybe,” Sniper said, voice a rumble that sent shivers up Scout’s back. “But they’re also damn tempting, is all. Not sure I‘ll be able to keep my hands off you the whole night.”

Scout swallowed back a noise as Sniper slid his hands into his back pockets.

Alright, so maybe it was kind of sort of a date. Maybe it was a “Scout felt kind of weird to be so consistently fucking the guy when they didn’t even really do couple stuff or hang out in more than like two places” thing. Maybe it was a “Scout needing to justify why he liked this guy so much even though he barely knew him” thing. Maybe it was a “getting pounded into the mattress like twice a week without even knowing what kind of movies the dude likes felt weird” thing. But also it was feeling significantly less important just then, with Sniper nosing beneath his jaw and kissing at his neck idly.

“Aww, c’mon, I showered for this and everything,” Scout complained, just so he wouldn’t look like a total lovestruck idiot.

“You always shower before you come over here,” Sniper replied a little dryly, and Scout flushed, because he’d been pretty sure Sniper hadn’t noticed. “If you really want to go out, you’re going to need to change, Roo. I’m serious.”

Scout subtly leaned back into the weight of Sniper’s hands, flushing a little bit. “Jeez, you’re really that into it?” he tried, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he was.

Sniper nodded in agreement before he ducked back in again. “Always hear about people going on about how good people look, the, er, ‘hate to see her go love to watch her leave’ thing, but it never really clicked for me until I saw _this_ ,” Sniper said, squeezing once meaningfully and making Scout’s breath catch and muscles jolt. “But I get it now, really I do. Gorgeous, feels like I ought to have to pay to ogle you all the buggering time.”

Scout bit the inside of his cheek to try to get ahold of himself. “Well, uh, well maybe I’ll start makin’ you,” he teased, glad he was turned away and Sniper couldn’t see his face, because he was sure he probably looked like a flushed mess and it was embarrassing.

Because he’d dated plenty of people, mostly girls, and sometimes they’d teased him that he had a nice ass and all that, gotten the stray pinch and smack every now and then, right? But he’d never been outright _groped_ like this, never had someone feel him up like this, nevermind so reverently, nevermind nipping up the column of his neck and slipping hands around his hips and pulling him back and tilting him just so and _grinding_ into him with such a smooth roll of hips, and, _fuck_.

His breath wouldn’t stop catching, and he felt sweat beading against his brow, on the back of his neck, down his back. He swallowed hard as Sniper repeated the motion, twice as slow as before. “Fuck,” he managed, and swallowed hard again. “Uh. We, uh. We…”

Sniper went still, only kissing idly at the back of his neck, letting him catch up to what he wanted to say.

“We can, take a raincheck on the drinks,” Scout managed, still a little stuttery.

“Next weekend, maybe?” Sniper tried, sounding significantly more in control than Scout was.

“Yeah,” Scout said, and then he was being turned around, and then Sniper was kissing him.

Hands on his ass again, gripping even more firmly, _squeezing_ , grinding their hips together even as Sniper made his head spin with his mouth. Scout tried to pull away to gasp, and was drawn back in a moment later, Sniper back with twice the enthusiasm and ferocity.

“Bloody unfair,” Sniper half-growled, and Scout could only get his brain together enough to make a vague sound of question. “How damn good you look in these.”

“Well, uh,” Scout started, and didn’t bother finishing the sentence when Sniper started kissing him again.

His knees started going weak enough that Sniper caught on and turned them enough to push Scout into bed, following behind shortly after once he’d stripped off his belt and pants.

Sniper proved to be a real asshole in that he kept distracting Scout from getting his own clothes off, nipping at his ear and stroking hands down his sides and playing with every inch of bare skin that Scout managed to get between fumbling hands.

Finally he complained, and Sniper eased off, and that only made him fumble more, Sniper’s eyes burning into him as he pulled free of his shirt, fought free of his pants and briefs. And he tried to hide how flustered he was by turning over, and Sniper caught on quick, making room and guiding him up onto his elbows and knees.

But the bastard didn’t set into lubing him up like he usually did. Apparently Scout had unintentionally put him in a mood. Instead, he went right back to feeling Scout up, squeezing and groping at his ass in firm, pleased sorts of motions, and Scout buried his face into his forearm as his face flushed, trying to hold back any embarrassing noises. He failed a second or two later when Sniper pinched him, and grabbed the pillow from not far away, whipping it back to smack Sniper in the side. He just laughed, tossing the pillow back up to the head of the bed.

“Said you showered?” Sniper prompted as he leaned to get the lube from the drawer. Scout hummed in agreement. “Good, good.”

Scout was a little tempted to ask exactly why that was so good, but then Sniper was back and pressing a finger in and he forgot the question, simply exhaling, doing his best to quickly relax.

Sniper was only at it for a few moments, though, before he pulled his hand back entirely, and Scout groaned in a mix of pleasure and embarrassment as he felt Sniper’s hands gripping at him again, spreading him apart. “Hurry up,” he practically whined, and Sniper made a sound of agreement, then—

Scout’s breath caught on a gasp, the sound something like a hiccup, as Sniper kissed just below his tailbone, then lower, then—

He moaned outright, higher than he’d expected it to sound, and that earned him a second lick, then a cautious probe of his tongue, and Scout felt like his muscles were already turning to jelly, shivery and electrified and weak.

It wasn’t often that Sniper indulged him in this. Partially because Scout always insisted that Sniper brush his teeth after, or else Scout wouldn’t kiss him. But every time he did, Scout turned into a complete mess.

Scout felt the bottle of lube roll on the mattress to hit his leg, and he processed in the back of his mind that it wasn’t the usual one, it was the flavored lube that Scout had half gotten as a joke. He hadn’t expected it to get used, to be honest, but here he was, getting proven wrong. And also getting turned into a pile of mush.

He couldn’t even keep track of the noises he was making, head swimming with pleasure. He was tempted to reach down and start tugging himself off, just to try and get an ounce of control over the situation, but he knew Sniper would stop him if he tried. He had in the past.

So instead he just gripped at the sheets and tried to remember to breathe and held on for dear life as Sniper’s mouth and tongue threatened to unravel him entirely.

When Sniper finally pulled back, Scout was slumped forward and was breathing like he’d run a marathon or twelve, and he didn’t waste a second before he set into begging, incoherent even to him but tone unmistakable. Sniper didn’t bother teasing him, just shucking his own pants down enough to free himself and slicking up, pushing in and making Scout’s begging cut off into a choked-off little gasp.

“There’s a love,” Sniper soothed, a hand drawing down over Scout’s back to settle him further, and once it was clear Scout was ready to start, that hand and his other one gripped high on Scout’s hips and he started on a merciless rhythm that had Scout’s voice cracking within moments.

Made all too aware of it all of a sudden, Scout couldn’t help but tune in to the feeling of Sniper’s hips snapping against his ass, blood pumping all the hotter at the way he felt it bounce. And Sniper apparently noticed too, because he went to pinch and grope at Scout some more, and it was almost embarrassing how hard it was to last under the assault of pleasure. He had to focus hard on clenching his fists in the sheets and not touching himself, sure he’d shoot in a minute flat if he did.

No, he held out, at least until Sniper started to break a bit, making real noises and faltering in his rhythm. Then he wrapped a hand around himself, and could’ve cried from how good it felt, and they finished damn near the same time, groaning and shuddering and pressing together tightly. Scout whined at the feeling of Sniper sealing teeth over his shoulder once he was through the brunt of his orgasm, the pain and the pleasure of it mixing into an intoxicating kind of cocktail.

Sniper pinched him again, and Scout couldn’t deny how much he liked it anymore. Not to himself, at least. But he still hit Sniper with a pillow again.


	39. Engineer/Spy, Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for mention of Engineer's prosthesis and both of them being slightly wine-drunk)

The Engineer knew that Spy had his own secret little place to shower—he’d been the one who had to sign off on the construction form for it, having picked it up to look it over before Spy could snatch it up and forge his signature. And looking back on it, maybe his decision to raise an eyebrow at Spy then promptly sign off on “all the routine maintenance” that needed doing (nothing noteworthy at all) had been one reason he ended up getting along well with Spy—a gesture of good will right up front to pave the way for a pleasant professional relationship.

And then a decidedly _un_ professional relationship.

It wasn’t particularly fancy, although Spy had gone to the trouble of decorating it, putting on a new coat of paint, and stocking it with all kinds of products that Dell would never bother with, firstly because so many of them seemed to be for the sake of taking care of one’s hair. But he at least understood why Spy went to so much effort—it really did make a difference, especially to a partner.

The shower itself, though not anything special, was a good bit closer to their water heater than the rest of the showers and was _much_ more spacious. More than enough room for two.

He’d never understand how Spy could wear so many layers and yet get undressed so quickly and efficiently; probably one of those special secret agent skills of his, and the fact that he didn’t have a prosthetic arm that he needed to remove. Either way, he was the second one in the shower, and almost flinched for a moment at the surprise of very heated water for the second or two until he was standing and situated, a pair of rarely-bare hands on his biceps as he got more sure of his footing. Then he was starting to get used to the heat, wiping the water from his eyes, and blinking up at Spy.

He still wasn’t used to seeing Spy without his mask on—it still felt like some kind of sacred, secret moment. Like trust, something that was in very low supply in their line of work. But maybe that was one reason he’d agreed to Spy’s suggestion, was the tantalizing idea of his face, bare, maybe even disheveled.

The other reasons were that the both of them were just a little bit wine-drunk, and Spy’s hand had been making a home further and further up his leg as the night wore on, and to be fair, he tried to shower every evening anyways.

There was one thing he was a little bit self-conscious about, even through the vague haze of maybe one too many glasses of wine, and a full, romantic sort of meal, and warm water, and the source of the many different and lovely smells that he would always catch on Spy when they were this close together. He was a little nervous about only having one arm to work with, but Spy had picked up on his cautiousness right away, and once he was steadied he gave Dell’s bad arm a resting point, wrapped up over his hip, the other raised up towards his face so he could lie a sweet kiss at the inside of his wrist. That settled him, and his reply was to move that same hand up to the back of Spy’s neck to pull him down into a real kiss.

His fingertips traced through the hair he found there, filled with a vague interest in the sensation he so rarely was allowed to indulge in. Soon that turned to carding a hand up through his hair, damp from the water, and Spy leaned into it, nipping at his bottom lip, so carefree and playful all of a sudden. He returned the nip, deepening the kiss in an instant and taking control of it, and Spy melted forward, making a soft, pleased little noise.

“Dell,” he started to say, parting for air and to speak, and was cut off by him immediately moving to mouth at his upper chest, planting sloppy kisses all the way down to his sternum before Spy managed to speak again. “Wait, let me—“

And his arms were being shifted out, and then Spy was no longer standing in front of him, and was instead kneeling.

Spy’s hand was around him, squeezing in a way that put a quake in his thighs, and he immediately moved to brace the elbow of his bad arm against the wall to maybe help him keep his balance and not slip and make a fool of himself. His other hand hesitated for a moment before settling on Spy’s head, carding into his hair with a bit of difficulty considering it was a little bit wet.

Maybe this was what heaven was—a warm, steamy bathroom, filled with a hundred wonderful smells, warm water raining his back, hand tangled in the hair of his lover as he was swallowed down in a fluid, expert motion.

He bit his tongue so as not to make any ridiculous noises, and even then he couldn’t hold back a grunt when Spy swallowed and dipped all the further, bobbing back up and starting to set into a leisurely sort of rhythm.

Pleasure was rolling through him as steadily as the heat from the water, and he pet his hand through Spy’s hair once and twice, not wanting to rush him along but needing something to ground himself a little bit. He looked down on a whim and saw that Spy’s expression was one of pleased concentration, a tilt to his eyebrows that suggested he was losing himself just as much in the heat. One of his hands was braced on Dell’s hip, but the other was between his own thighs, working himself as steadily as he bobbed his head.

And basking in so much pleasant sensation in varying degrees left him floating, unable to properly process how much time was passing—very long minutes, he was sure, but how many was unclear. All he knew was that at some point the pleasure sharpened, and he glanced down again as he more firmly carded his fingers through Spy’s hair to cup and hold his head.

Spy looked up at him, eyes fluttery with pleasure, water clinging to his eyelashes and making him blink once and twice to dislodge them, and the look was so sultry and knowing that he took it as approval and started rocking his hips forward, pushing and pulling Spy’s head to more easily fuck his mouth.

He tried not to go too deep, not wanting any amount of discomfort in the equation when everything was so lovely like this, and he knew he wouldn’t need to. It wasn’t too much longer before he was rocking in harder motions, and then he was groaning a warning, and then he was choking back further noises of pleasure as Spy effortlessly pulled off and finished him off in a final few tight pumps of his hand.

When Dell came back to earth, it was only marginally, and he glanced down at Spy, saw the desperation on his face, Dell’s cum splattered on his thigh, and he was working himself furiously, eyebrows drawn together. And he moved to haul him to his feet as best he could one-handed, and he barely had time to think about it before Spy was stammering out that please, just kiss him, he just needed Dell to—

And he did, and felt Spy’s release dripping down his front, heavier than the water and quickly washing away. And he vaguely remembered kissing lines across Spy’s chest while the taller man washed his own hair, and mumbling that he could shower in the morning if he really felt like he still needed it but if he didn’t get out of the steamy room within the minute he would pass out.

Then warm towels, and a warm, damp body beside him in his bed, and Spy’s shampoo was so familiar in scent but so much stronger just then, and he hoped it would cling to him too, at least for a little while.


	40. Sniper/Spy, Pest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for aggressive behavior and minor canon-typical violence)

“You bloody fuckin’ _rat_ ,” Sniper all but spat, shoving the Spy bodily up against the wooden wall of his nest so hard that it creaked alarmingly, almost as if it threatened to give way.

Apparently not alarmingly enough, as that combined with a knife the size of his forearm at his throat didn’t wipe the smirk off of the BLU Spy’s face. “Oh, _mon cher_ , I’m so _sorry_ ,” he said faux-sympathetically, voice sickly sweet. “How terribly clumsy of me. Perhaps next time you shouldn’t leave your mug on a windowsill like that, who knows what might happen?”

“What’s going to _happen_ is I’m going to put a few new _holes_ in you,” Sniper snarled, fury boiling hot in his gut after this, the latest in a long string of antagonizations from the Spy that day, and by far the most severe.

“Oh, and _then_ what?” Spy purred, leaning forward until the edge of the knife was pressing lightly into his skin, and that was when Sniper caught on to his little game.

Oh. Oh, so _that_ was how it was.

“Seem to remember _you_ being the one to say we keep this discreet and outside of work hours,” Sniper hissed under his breath.

“And I seem to remember you saying you would have time for me for the past two weekends, but apparently circumstances change,” Spy replied airily, and there was only the slightest tic to a muscle in his face to betray that Sniper wasn’t the only one who was a little bit fed up, and then it was gone, replaced by that smug smirk again.

“You absolute buggering—“ Sniper started to growl before giving up on words and just crushing Spy into the wall with his body and leaning in to fix him with a dominating kiss.

He found Spy’s hand and crushed his wrist hard enough to make him drop his knife, then kicked that and his own across the room and out of the way before quickly disarming him in every other way he could think of and forcing his jacket off of him, popping a button or two and some of the stitching in the process, which made Spy pull back and try to protest such rough treatment of his clothes. Sniper bit down on his bottom lip hard for the infraction and moved to change their positions, bending Spy over the nearest medium-high surface, which happened a few crates covered badly by a tarp. They were slightly uneven and of varying heights, and would be uncomfortable to be bent over. Sniper considered that a pro rather than a con just then.

“Did you bring slick at least, or did you want this to hurt even more?” Sniper snapped.

“I prepared before I got here, but I have more lube in my front left—“ Spy started to say, but cut himself off when Sniper found the lube he was talking about and quickly undid his pants. Spy started to shuffle those off with an amount of care, and Sniper moved to loosen and undo his tie. Once that was off, he snatched up Spy’s hands and shoved hard until they were stretched a good distance above his head, and then they were quickly tied together. “Ouch, tight, _tight—_ ”

“Like this being rough isn’t what you were looking for,” Sniper snarled into his ear, and it made Spy tremble, going quiet and lax for a moment until he got ahold of himself.

“I was looking for a quick fuck, thank you, emphasis on quick,” Spy snarked right back, trying to get a glance over his shoulder as he clearly heard the sound of Sniper’s buckle rattling.

“Well, lucky for you I’m out of patience,” Sniper muttered, and drizzled lube carelessly, and pushed in with exactly enough care not to hurt Spy outright.

That said, he didn’t give Spy much time to adjust at all, and the pace he settled into from the start was rough, punishing. And he knew it had to be uncomfortable, probably right there at the edge of what Spy could handle, but he didn’t complain outright, just groaning and clenching his fists there up above his head.

And the pace, though heavy, wasn’t something that Sniper thought could get him to the edge particularly quickly. No, it wasn’t so much to get himself as much pleasure as possible, it was more a punishment. A way to vent his frustration after Spy tormented him for the large majority of the day. To make him really get a feel for how much he’d pissed Sniper off.

Pissed off enough that he would break his otherwise unshakable professionalism to fuck his enemy senseless in the middle of the battlefield.

Pissed off enough that he wouldn’t even undress either of them to any reasonable standard for vigorous sex.

Pissed off enough that he’d tied Spy’s hands above his head and didn’t do him the courtesy of tugging him off.

Spy seemed contented with that for a while, but it didn’t take long before he seemed to notice that he couldn’t touch himself, one of Sniper’s hands lying weight on his back to pin him down while he pounded his brains out of him. And soon that awareness turned to discomfort turned to desperation.

“Bushman,” he managed through gritted teeth, very much out of breath.

Sniper ignored him.

“ _Bushman_ ,” he tried again. “I’m—I need you to touch me.”

Sniper ignored him.

“Sniper, touch me!” he said more demandingly.

“And what if I don’t?” Sniper asked, admittedly a little breathless himself from the pleasure and movement, jaw tight as he held on to his concentration in an iron hold. “And what if I bugger you until your eyes cross and then leave you here to sort yourself out, what then?”

“You wouldn’t,” Spy hissed, but he couldn’t quite look over his shoulder, and he fought Sniper’s weight on his back. “Just—just _touch me!”_

“Beg,” Sniper snarled, and Spy was reduced to shivering and moaning for a good few moments by the heat of it before he got enough of his brain together to speak.

“Fine, _please_ , please touch me,” he managed, shame palpable as he did, and Sniper did, and all Spy’s groaning and carrying on and finally the noise he made as he reached his peak were enough to push Sniper there, too, and he gave a couple more thrusts for good measure before he swore hard into the overheated air between them.

He disengaged one point of contact at a time, breathing hard and having a little trouble keeping his balance as he did so. “You right?” Sniper asked, voice rough.

A noise of affirmation from Spy.

“You done having a tantrum? Ready to go back to being a buggering professional about this?”

Another noise of affirmation.

“Good. Next time you see me, you try to kill me and that’s _it_ ,” Sniper said firmly.

Spy murmured an agreement, and probably meant to say more, but Sniper promptly picked up his kukri and put it through Spy’s back.

He at least got back dressed and took a few shots before Spy next stabbed him.


	41. Sniper/Spy, Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“ _Mon chou_ , you really do need better posture,” Spy chided within moments of his hands finding Sniper’s back, feeling the tension in his shoulders.

“Can’t help it,” Sniper replied simply, and Spy sighed and dropped the topic.

They’d been doing not much of anything, fresh off of getting dinner and having returned to Spy’s quarters, and the topic had turned to the many odd a skills that Spy had picked up over the years. He mentioned offhandedly that he’d been trained in how to give a proper massage, and Sniper had joked that he’d never been to one but probably needed it, and Spy offered to show him. And within not much time at all he found himself stripped to his jeans and laid on his front on Spy’s frankly massive bed, Spy having produced seemingly from nowhere an assortment of aromatic massage oils and a shaped pillow to put his head on so he didn’t strain his neck or suffocate, the sort of materials he might find at an actual spa being used by a professional.

Spy was quick to lose the aspect of professionality however, because he then got up onto the bed and sat himself astride Sniper’s torso, pinning him in place in an intimate and admittedly pleasant weight on his lower back.

His hands were bare and warm and smoothed against his back very pleasantly with the oil he’d apparently decided to employ, and first spent some time mapping out the planes of his back, over his shoulders and down his backbone and across his ribs in smooth passes that had him quickly relaxing into the pleasantness of it all.

He couldn’t quite place the smell of the oil. Something sweet like vanilla almost, but some kind of spice beneath. And usually the heat was oppressive in the desert, and the inside of the base was uncomfortably chilly with all the concrete and air conditioning, but Spy’s quarters were a comfortable temperature—of course they were, he always wanted things to be just so. Just right. And he found himself lingering on the feeling of the warm oil cooling in the wake of Spy’s hands, and he didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes, but they remained that way.

Really, it felt wonderful. Pain, both in the muscles and the bones of his back, was such a constant that he didn’t really notice it most of the time, and feeling it disappearing slowly under the determined kneading and pressing of Spy’s hands was beyond incredible. The occasional grunt of discomfort broke the feeling as Spy needed to dig in a bit harder to get out more stubborn knots, but even then the relief of the knot disappearing made it more than worth the mild pain. 

He came to a little bit when Spy settled back for a moment, and realized he was almost completely relaxed. That, in and of itself, was quite a feat. And besides that, he felt extremely comfortable, and the feeling of hands on his back was beyond pleasant, and…

A pair of lips, against the back of his head near his hairline. He exhaled with it, smiling unseen.

“How do you feel?” Spy asked quietly, and maybe it was just because Sniper had maybe never been so relaxed in his life, but his voice sounded smooth like butter and added to the haze of pleasure clouding his mind.

“Mmm,” Sniper hummed, not bothering with proper words, not feeling entirely able to convince himself that he needed to.

It made Spy chuckle at least.

It was an odd feeling, maybe, being loose and relaxed and careless. There was something almost vulnerable about it, in a way. In not bothering to even worry about where Spy’s hands would go next, trusting him not to make a mistake and hurt him on accident, trusting him to make him feel good. And when Spy leaned forward and pressed more kisses against the back of his head, hands smoothing around either flank to wrap down beneath him to knead just at the divot of his hips and lower, he didn’t feel worried or tense at all, just smiling again and lifting his hips as best he could to provide Spy better access to wherever his hands planned on going next.

Spy shifted his weight back, and soon one clever, still-oiled hand slid down the front of his pants in a testing sort of feel, and he groaned his affirmation, leaning into it and arching into the hand that started working its way up one shoulder blade.

It was warm and hazy, and his skin felt unnaturally alight, all the blood having risen just up under the surface in the wake of being kneaded at and massaged for god knew how long. It was almost like being high, and he basked in the pleasant sensations, rolling unhurriedly into every motion against him, voice loosened after such a long period of focus and rising up in soft moans whenever Spy managed something especially lovely against his skin and the muscles beneath, an expert with the human body.

He felt the tension starting to rise in his thighs, and mourned how soon this all would be over, and was happy to let Spy draw things out. And when he eventually reached his peak, it lingered, rising over him like a wave and leaving him breathless for long moments before he finally gasped his way out onto the other side, back to being relaxed, albeit somewhat more sweaty now, a bit more overheated.

And he groaned at the feeling of Spy’s free hand kneading wide circles into his back, listless and loose and practically mindless in the wake of overwhelming pleasure. And soon he’d be urged into the shower and a clean pair of pants, and would absolutely have to reward such a stellar job somewhere along the way, but until then he relaxed and enjoyed the peace and quiet.


	42. Sniper/Scout, Calling Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for arguing, insecurity, and general roughness. resolved)

The entire hall was treated to the sound of Scout yelling “ _FUCK_ YOU,” followed a few seconds later by the sound of a door slamming loud enough to echo. The wide majority of people who were in their rooms were surprised, but decided against investigating. Demo was the one who gave in to curiosity and peeked out his door to see what had happened.

He was treated to the sight of Sniper standing in the hallway looking absolutely stunned, taken aback, and most of all unsure of what to do. He heard the door creak, and glanced over, eyes wide behind his sunglasses.

Demo raised an eyebrow at him. Sniper made an “I don’t know what to tell you” sort of shrug. Demo’s other eyebrow rose and he ducked back into his room to let him sort out whatever the hell he’d done on his own.

Over the course of the next few days, the rest of the team got to bear witness to Sniper getting the coldest shoulder on the planet as Scout would abruptly start to slam things more and storm out of rooms the second he showed his face. Exactly once someone tried to ask Scout what Sniper did, at which point Scout responded with so much swearing that he wasn’t asked again. At a few different points Sniper was asked the same question, at which point he explained that he was pretty sure talking about it would just get him in more trouble.

Outside of view of the team, there were a couple times where Sniper tried to approach Scout. Every time, Scout would make an excuse to get away from him, and lacking that he would just leave outright. At one point he tried to corner Scout, but unfortunately for him, Scout’s whole thing mostly consisted of being great at climbing.

For a little while, he considered waiting for Scout to stop being mad. He realized almost immediately that Scout was fully capable and entirely willing to just be angry forever and he really, really didn’t want that.

It was pretty late one night when Sniper steeled himself and walked into base to track down Scout to talk to him, and he was promptly informed that Scout had gone out for a run.

It was getting pretty late, and the many half-ruined entirely-abandoned buildings that they commonly found themselves getting murdered in and around looked very different in the lighting of sunset. And with no leads other than a general direction he hadn’t really expected to get anywhere close to tracking Scout down, especially since Scout was actively avoiding him at all costs. Luckily for him, he heard the light clatter of shifting roof as he passed one of the buildings.

It took him about ten minutes and a considerable amount of noise and he almost lost his hat three times and sunglasses twice in the process of climbing up onto the roof. To be completely honest, he was half convinced that he would get up there and found that Scout had left while he was climbing. But he crested up over the lip of the roof and was relieved to see that Scout was still up there, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, staring up into the sky.

He sat himself down a good few feet away, sweaty and out of breath and a little sore. Scout glanced over at him, face uncomfortably blank.

“See, now you’ve fucked up,” Scout said calmly, “because I can get down from here by myself and you totally can’t. You’re gonna break your fuckin’ legs. You’re an idiot.”

Sniper didn’t reply to that, still mostly just trying to catch his breath and figure out what to say.

The silence stretched out for a long several minutes. Scout was the one to break it. “What the fuck do you want?” Scout finally asked.

“…Wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said carefully.

“Yeah?” Scout asked, voice cold.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed.

“Good to know,” Scout said, still cold.

“Awright, look, I know what I did wrong—“ Sniper started in, but Scout cut him off.

“Do you? Are you sure? _Do_ you know what you did wrong?” he asked, voice gone sharp. “Because it sure didn’t seem like you knew what you did wrong. Either didn’t know or didn’t care. One of the two.”

“I—I know, and I’m sorry—“

“I don’t think you’re sorry though is the thing, I think you’re sorry that I got _mad_ at you, I think you’re sorry you got in _trouble_ for sayin’ that—“

“I’m sorry that I said it and I wouldn’t have said it at all if I knew it would make you upset,” Sniper cut in, and Scout sat up, glared at him dead on.

“You didn’t think that _maybe_ I would get upset? Didn’t think I’d even get _mad_ at you?” he challenged.

“I just—all the rest of the time you’ve got a thick skin,” Sniper defended. “Anyone else says anything even beyond that mean to you and you brush it off. From everyone else you don’t mind it.”

“Well you’re not everyone else,” Scout snapped. “You’re different. That’s the fuckin’ point, is everyone else on the planet is always sayin’ that kinda shit to me, but _you’ve_ got my back. But _you’re_ always on my side. That—that _you_ like me, at least.”

“Scout, of course I like you—“ Sniper tried.

“No, yeah, you like me, you just think I’m a fuckin’ idiot apparently, some dumbass,” Scout scoffed. “That I’m stupid and can’t—“

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sniper cut in, “you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what the fuck _did_ you mean?”

“I just… I just meant that I thought you were wrong about that one particular thing, and I, I used too strong a word—“

“And called your boyfriend a fuckin’ idiot, yeah,” Scout said. Sniper tried to cut in again. “No, no, shut the fuck up. It’s my turn to talk, okay?”

Sniper shut up.

Scout took a breath, sighed hard, glaring out towards the horizon line. “Look, I—I had to grow up dealin’ with people thinking I’m stupid and annoying and worthless. Everyone. And I had to work real fuckin’ hard to convince myself that I’m worth anything. _Real_ fuckin’ hard. And I still gotta work hard at it, even out here. And I’ve had a goddamn laundry list of people who rejected me and called me all that dumb shit too. But I’ve gotten some fuckin’ standards since then, alright? So I’m not gonna put up with that. You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Sometimes couples push each other’s buttons—“ Sniper tried to say.

“Do I ever make fun of you, Snipes?” Scout cut in, expression hard. “I ever call you stupid? Make fun of you for the shit that I know you’ve got damage about?”

Silence.

“Yeah, thought so.” Scout glared at him for a few more seconds before he laid back again, sighing hard. “Just get the fuck outta here, Snipes. I’m gonna be pissed for a while.”

“I really am sorry,” Sniper tried.

“And I’m not forgiving you yet. Beat it.”

Sniper managed to climb down without getting busted up too bad, and returned to his camper again feeling what was probably a suitable amount of extremely ashamed of himself.

It was twenty minutes later when he got a banging on his door, and when he opened it, Scout was standing there, still looking pretty annoyed.

“Okay so I’m still mad at you but I _did_ leave my other sneakers in here,” he said before Sniper could overcome his surprise and say anything.

Sniper considered that for a few seconds before he stepped aside to let him in. Scout came in and picked up the sneakers in question from near the bed, and stood there for a second, glaring at nothing.

“And just because you apologized and you’re being nice, that doesn’t mean I gotta forgive you,” he said firmly, as if anticipating an argument.

“Right,” Sniper said, because that was true.

Scout chewed on the inside of his cheek. “And—and if I tell you to fuck off and not talk to me, then—then fuck off,” he said, also firmly, also already defensive.

“Awright,” Sniper agreed. “I’ll try.”

Scout glared harder. “And just because you’re agreeing with me that’s—that’s not gonna make me stop being mad. I’m still gonna be mad whether you’re cool about it or not,” he declared.

“Fair enough,” Sniper shrugged.

Scout glared at him for a good ten seconds in complete silence before he spoke again. “Fuckin’ quit it.”

“Quit what?” Sniper asked, confused.

“Just—just quit it!”

“Quit _what?_ ” Sniper repeated, more confused.

“The—this!” he said, gesturing at the entirety of Sniper. “Quit being you! I’m still mad at you! Quit it!”

“I—what?” Sniper asked, so entirely confused.

Scout slammed his shoes back to the ground, looking beyond annoyed. “You’re tryin’ to make me less mad at you by being—being all fuckin’ sweet and all understanding and shit, quit it! Stop!”

“I’m—I’m not trying to make you do anything! I just understand!” Sniper defended.

“Bullshit! Why aren’t you mad too?!”

“Because I was a complete arse?” Sniper proposed.

“Why aren’t you annoyed about me being mad at you?!”

“Because you’re right to be angry!” Sniper exclaimed, exasperated. “Because it’s true that I should treat you right! Because I shouldn’t have called you a bloody idiot!”

“Yeah!” Scout agreed angrily, and glared at him for a few seconds. “And—and I get to be mad at you for as long as I want now because that was really, really, _really_ shitty of you!”

“I know! I agree!” Sniper said.

Scout stared at him for long minutes, fists clenched at his sides. Then he stormed forward the six steps between them, grabbed Sniper by the front of the shirt, and dragged him back across the room. Sniper, for his part, mostly focused on not tripping and falling, and then his thighs made contact with the edge of the cot and he was shoved, and then he was on his back and Scout was above him, straddling his waist. He didn’t protest in the slightest despite his shoulders being pressed against the wall in a way that was slightly uncomfortable, the position awkward.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Scout said firmly.

“Right,” Sniper said, and then Scout was yanking him up by the collar and kissing him, hard.

It was as much an extension of Scout being mad as a kiss, his bottom lip bitten half to shreds in a few short minutes. And when he gingerly tried to slide his hands up Scout’s thighs, his hands were grabbed hold of and pinned on either side of him on the bed within a second.

“Fuckin’ leave those there,” Scout grumbled, and Sniper nodded, and was kissed again for a second before Scout pulled back to muddle with his belt.

To be entirely frank, Sniper wasn’t sure what to think. Scout was angry with him, and Sniper knew that he was right to be. And now here he was starting to strip both of them in turn. And that wasn’t—he wasn’t opposed to that, not at all, quite the opposite actually, it was just mixed signals a little bit. He was a little confused.

And it was a rush of sensations and feelings, Scout really going to town biting and sucking marks into his neck and upper chest while he fumbled with some meager amount of prep, it having been a good couple of days and all, and then he gave Sniper exactly zero warning before he was sinking down and—

“Bugger,” Sniper managed to gasp, needing to fist his hands into the sheets to keep from grabbing Scout or falling back. And Scout’s thighs were tense on either side of his waist, and he rolled his hips once and twice to get comfortable, and then he set into a hard motion that made Sniper keep gasping.

It was one of the rougher fucks he’d had in their relationship, Scout’s rhythm downright unforgiving, the slap of skin to skin on collision stinging, rough enough and overwhelming enough that it practically felt like _Sniper_ was the one being fucked. And throughout it Scout was a lot quieter than he tended to be, his only sounds being hard breathing and occasionally swearing under his breath. He was flushed down to his chest, and his eyebrows were all drawn together, and he was biting his lip hard enough that Sniper was a little worried he was going to hurt himself, and somehow all of that combined into making him downright gorgeous.

He slowed at one point, apparently struggling to catch his breath. Sniper’s hands left the bed to stroke up his thighs again encouragingly, and again Scout shoved them away, and then that fire was back and the rhythm resumed, leaving Sniper to choke on his breath.

Sniper finished first, but it was a close thing, Scout following just behind, his release warm as it dropped against his stomach where his shirt had been abandoned halfway through being unbuttoned and had ended up just shoved halfway up in the front.

And for a few seconds it was just he and Scout’s panting, trying to get their breath back. And he felt a distinct tremble to Scout’s thighs, a weakness that he knew tended to happen, and for a few seconds Scout struggled to try and leverage himself up a bit. When he spoke, it was muffled against Sniper’s neck and shoulder.

“Help,” he said quietly, and Sniper did in an instant, hooking an arm around his waist and helping to lift him up and free, letting him settle comfortably further down Sniper’s thighs. Then his hands were pushed at again, and he returned them to his sides obligingly. “You’re still an asshole.”

“I know,” Sniper said.

“And—and I’m not stupid,” Scout said next, clearly trying to muster up some amount of anger behind it, but he mostly just seemed drained, physically and emotionally. That realization was further punctuated when Scout took a shaky breath, sniffling once. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not.”

“I know,” Sniper said again.

Scout stayed like that for a while, hands resting coldly against his waist even as he kept his face buried in the crook of Sniper’s neck. It became more and more clear the longer he stayed there that he was trying to pull himself together, and wasn’t having an easy time of it. In fact, it didn’t seem to be working at all. He kept taking shaky breaths, kept sniffling, and Sniper processed that the dampness against his neck wasn’t just sweat anymore.

“Scout,” Sniper ventured, chest absolutely aching. “I know you’re still angry with me, and I know I’ve earned it, but please can I hug you?”

Silence for a few moments before Scout nodded, and then Sniper gathered him up in his arms, squeezing tight and comforting in exactly the way that always made Scout feel a little better. And Scout’s breath got all the more shaky for a few moments after that, and Sniper caught a hiccup or two, but then he settled, melting forward into the embrace, smoothed over and malleable.

“It hurt a lot when you said that, y’know,” Scout murmured against him, so softly, almost painfully vulnerable. “I wasn’t even all that mad about that part. It just really hurt.”

Sniper didn’t interrupt him, rubbing gentle circles into his back and waiting for him to find his words.

“I was mostly mad because usually when I feel like shit, I go to _you_ about it, and then I couldn’t do that because you were the one who made me feel like garbage.” Scout nuzzled in closer, tighter. “And it made me figure out that I really really need you. For real. And now I couldn’t—“

Silence for a few seconds. A deep breath or two.

“Don’t do that again,” he settled on saying.

“I won’t. I promise,” Sniper agreed.

Silence.

“And I didn’t mean it,” Sniper continued. “Really I didn’t. I don’t know why I said it, I was just… running my bloody mouth like some prick. I shouldn’t have said something I don’t mean. And I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Scout said quietly. Silence again. “I’m not still mad. I’m just… fuckin’ tired now.”

“Sleep?” Sniper suggested, and Scout nodded, and Sniper set about getting them cleaned up and settled into bed.

And it was pretty obvious that while he wasn’t still mad, Scout was going to be bruised over the whole thing for quite a while, but now that he was allowed to, Sniper planned on doing everything he could to make up for it. However long that took.

Because he needed Scout too.


	43. Demo/Scout, Muscles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Scout was shivering, head spinning, skin feeling like it was put on a little too tight, overwhelmed in every way.

That wasn’t unusual, that was just sex with Demo, he’d learned.

It was fuckin’ ridiculous. Even in the process of getting railed, he could barely believe his luck. Demo was _way_ out of his league, as much as Demo protested that whenever Scout went so far as to express that out loud. He was nice, he was funny, he was _really_ fuckin’ smart, and most of all he was _so_ goddamn hot. And Demo joked about it sometimes, that he only had as much muscle as he did because he had to carry around a massive grenade launcher with kickback like a pickup truck, and that if he were to ever drop their job for any reason he’d probably immediately gain a bunch of weight and have his arms turn into soggy noodles, but as it was he _was_ in shape and Scout was—

Maybe that actually contributed to Demo picking up on the fact that Scout had a thing for him, was all the staring he’d done despite his best efforts. Because seriously, Jesus H. fucking Christ, man. Even before they’d gotten together, every time he saw Demo in the locker rooms he felt like he was gonna literally drop dead. Like, the _muscles_ on the guy. Seriously. It was some Curt Swan’s Superman level shit.

And all of that contributed to a fuckin’ _expert_ level of control over his body, and that was pretty obvious out on the field, but it was even more obvious in bed, and Scout was pretty sure if he died and went to heaven halfway through getting fucked by Demo he wouldn’t be able to notice the difference until he opened his eyes.

Like, it was a thing where Scout tended to go for guys who were bigger than him, but he usually had a problem with getting manhandled. He knew he was kinda scrawny and all, but that didn’t give anyone an excuse to lift him up and tote him around. He’d gotten enough bruises from overzealous guys to know better than to let that be a habit. But Demo never did that, never pushed him around, and instead more just like, elevated, helped him move in the way that he wanted but harder, but faster, and would pull at the same time Scout pushed back, would roll along to his rhythm without even needing to say anything.

There weren’t even words for it. Like, _fuck_.

All of that meant that Scout, more often than not, ended up overwhelmed and shivery and looking like a complete dope whenever they were in bed, but apparently Demo found that endearing, so that was probably fine.

It was just that he was so _much_ , on so many levels. The huskiness of his voice as he kissed idly at Scout’s back, the steady and unrelenting roll of his hips, the strength there behind every thrust and the grip he had on Scout, it, _fuck_. And he knew he was probably way beyond sweaty and his hair was gonna be fucked up from Demo messing with it earlier and it was almost definitely embarrassing how high his voice got when he was moaning like this and actually he was a little worried about the headboard denting the wall from where the bed was rocking, but he couldn’t even think about any of that. He was absolutely positive that it couldn’t get any better than this.

But then Demo was shifting and proved him wrong.

His thrust slowed to a steady, languid roll, like he was savoring the way Scout’s body shifted under him. And he bent forward, and Scout froze up, shivering in earnest at the feeling of Demo’s chest and stomach against his back, shifting with every roll. He could feel his muscles rolling and tensing and relaxing there under the light layer of softness that covered him, could feel the strength and power just beneath, not a threat so much as a promise, and he rocked back against Demo hard, couldn’t stand the teasing, not when—when—

He whimpered as Demo held him tight, didn’t let him move to speed things up, just grasped him in two big, strong hands and made him take it slow, made him savor it, _feel_ it. And he groaned his defeat, toes curling tight, hands wrapping into the sheets and gripping hard, and he had to really focus to not let himself finish and ruin this moment, not even he was half-certain he was gonna forget how to fuckin’ breathe he felt so good, spinning up into cloud nine.

He was only narrowly grounded by the feeling of Demo’s beard rasping against his back, lips pecking little kisses here and there, quick and light in counterpoint to the slow, hard rolls of his body against Scout’s.

He was so caught up in the feeling of everything that he didn’t notice the telltale signs of Demo drawing close until he swore, pace picking back up, and the thin thread holding back his orgasm snapped and he buried his face into the mattress to muffle his cries of pleasure as he spilled, hips jerking uncontrollably in Demo’s grip. And then Demo was finished too, and pulled out and shifted them so he could spoon Scout tightly against his chest, always sweet and affectionate for long minutes after the act itself, pressing a series of kisses against the space behind Scout’s ear.

Scout found the strength to reach a hand back to pet up along Demo’s arm, resting at his bicep, idly fascinated by the feeling of firmness there. And he felt Demo’s chuckle thrumming through him, and smiled before he could even process what Demo was saying.

“Enjoying the gunshow, lad?” Demo asked, clearly amused.

Scout flushed up to his ears. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled, turning his head to bury his face in the pillow, and he had to bite hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling again when Demo chuckled some more.


	44. Sniper/Scout, Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for very possessive behavior)

Sniper didn’t know that he was the jealous type. He really didn’t. But apparently, somehow Scout knew that he was.

It wasn’t hard to piece together how things played out. He’d fallen way behind on plenty of the things he’d been needing to do (mostly assorted chores and upkeep) because of a certain speedster and essentially told said speedster to fuck off and leave him alone while he caught up on them. And maybe he’d been a _little_ harsh, but only because every time he was anything less, Scout somehow always managed to weasel his way back in again without any consequences.

Regardless, the first weekend he had without interruption was extremely productive, and by the second weekend he was back to what he assumed would be a reasonable level of caught up on cleaning and laundry and maintenance, and decided to reward himself by going out with the rest of the team on the usual Friday night bar crawl. And he figured, hey, halfway through the night the team usually descended into chaos and started splitting off to do their own thing in different places, and maybe he could snag Scout and pull him off to a motel somewhere, some place with a real bed where they wouldn’t get in much trouble for making too much noise. That sounded nice.

But then at the very first place they stopped at, Scout did a little something he hadn’t done for roughly as long as it had been since he and Sniper started “hanging out” more, standing up from the group and walking off towards the bar itself.

“Where’s _he_ going?” Demo asked, chuckling a little.

The answer was made clear pretty quickly as Scout took a seat next to a young woman sitting at the bar and visibly started a conversation. Behind his sunglasses, Sniper’s eyes narrowed.

As much as the team liked to make fun of Scout for being a complete dork, he did legitimately know how to talk to girls, how to make them laugh and be likeable, or at the very least endearing. So it didn’t take long before the jealousy mounted, seeing how the young woman was leaning in, nodding, smiling, laughing.

Usually frustration and anger mounted in Sniper as a slow build, a rising tide. A series of irritations over and over that eventually resulted in him boiling over in one way or another.

This time it wasn’t slow or gradual at all, it was hitting all at once. Zero to a hundred in three moments that happened back to back.

First, Scout said something and winked at her.

Second, she leaned in and put a hand on his arm, only for it to migrate to his chest, there at the center of his sternum.

Third, Scout glanced over and looked Sniper directly in the eye, smirking.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. He was doing it on purpose. He knew he was pissing Sniper off. He knew he was pissing Sniper off and he was having a _wonderful_ time with it.

Sniper stood up. Scout’s expression fell.

The girl glanced over her shoulder by the time Sniper got there to see what exactly Scout had gone white as a sheet about, but he didn’t bother her, just grabbing Scout by back of his neck and bodily steering him out the door.

“Woah—woah! Woah, Snipes!” Scout started in, stammering.

“Shut up,” Sniper snapped, shoved him out the door. He heard their teammates trying to call out to them, but he ignored them.

Once they were out of the bar, Sniper grabbed onto his arm instead of his neck just to avoid getting any looks, but his hold was just as tight as before. Scout hadn’t stopped stammering.

“I, look, I wasn’t—it—I was doin’ a bit! It was a joke, I just thought—“

“A _joke?_ ” Sniper all but snapped, and Scout seemed to recoil.

“Yeah, I—I went up to her and I was like ‘yo hey my friend bet me twenty bucks I couldn’t get your number, pretend to laugh for a minute and give me some fake number and I can cut you in for ten bucks or a drink’ and she thought that was pretty funny so she went with it and I—I just, you’ve been all busy and fuckin’ _ignoring me_ for like two weeks—and I, I just wanted to make you, I, I dunno—“

“Jealous?” Sniper asked, voice dark, and Scout gulped audibly. “Thought you’d be _cute_ , did you?”

Scout tried to start talking a few times, and stammered out each one.

“Well good job, you got what you wanted,” Sniper muttered, glaring straight ahead. A group of three people ducked straight out of their way on the sidewalk as they passed them. “Happy now?”

Scout didn’t say anything, apparently realizing that he was only getting himself into more trouble.

Two blocks down from the bar was a motel, and Scout had the good sense to just do as he was told for a moment and wait for Sniper. Sniper got a motel room in less than three sentences and was pushing Scout in the door within two minutes, and then Sniper locked the door, and then Scout was against the door.

“Well, I’m not ignoring you now. You have my full attention,” he all but growled, and Scout flushed. “And you were bloody _going_ to have my full attention, you absolute piker. Came out here with the blokes because I’m caught up now, thought I’d treat you for the night to apologize for disappearing on your for a bit. Then you decided to throw a tantrum.”

Scout swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He got his voice back after a second. “…But I did make you jealous?” he asked a little weakly.

“Yes. You did,” Sniper snapped, and kissed him.

He had Scout melting and falling apart against the door within minutes, having nipped his way up and down his neck and having half a mind to do it to all the rest of him, too. He got Scout to his feet enough to drag him over to the bed, pressing him down into the mattress before either of them even had their shoes off.

“ _Mine_ ,” he snarled into a particularly harsh love-bite just below Scout’s jaw, and it had Scout gasping hard, hips jerking up against him.

“Fuck,” Scout panted, and started fumbling to try and get his shirt off.

He didn’t get very far, mostly because Sniper practically ripped it off of him, the button of his pants nearly popping off as those went as well, and then Sniper was biting his way across the freshly-bared skin, marking Scout up as much as he could manage as quickly as possible, rough and demanding.

Scout, to his credit, arched up into it and groaned for more.

He found himself lingering there at Scout’s chest, nipping over and over at Scout’s sternum. And he tried to remind himself that it wasn’t real what that girl was doing, it didn’t mean anything, but he fixated there regardless, nipping again and again until Scout’s hands buried into his hair and urged him to go somewhere else.

He did, sinking down between Scout’s legs and pulling his briefs off, starting to bite and suck marks into the inside of his thighs, where nobody else would see except for him and Scout. He worried each spot until it was red, until it was sure to turn purple by morning, until Scout’s hips bucked and he needed to be bodily pinned down to keep still.

Sniper fished the packet of lube from his pocket, having gone out prepared, and started working Scout open as he continued leaving mark after mark. He barred one forearm across the space just below Scout’s ribs to hold him down as he sucked more marks into the divots of his hips and Scout responded with verve, moaning and pleading and scrabbling at the sheets and trying to roll down against Sniper’s fingers.

And he stripped as far as shoving down his pants enough to free himself before he was pushing in, pushing Scout’s legs open and up, bending him.

From the very first push Scout was already pleading for more, for faster, and Sniper gave it in spades, picking a pace that rattled his belt and rocked the bed and set Scout to shaking, to swearing, to arching, to scrambling for Sniper’s shoulders and fisting his hands into the back of his shirt and hauling him closer.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Sniper growled again, gone mindless and hungry, gripping at Scout’s hips hard enough that he hoped it would bruise, hoped it would leave his fingerprints as reminders of it.

“Yours,” Scout agreed, practically a moan, clearly also driven out of his mind by the pleasure of it. “Yours, yours, oh, _fuck_ —“

And Sniper gave it his all, really he did, because just for a moment he wanted to clear Scout’s head out of everything but _him_ , everything but then and there, being fucked stupid and loving it, and begging for more, and writhing and moaning and looking so goddamn gorgeous—

And he wanted Scout to remember this—

And he wanted Scout to _never_ pull a stunt like that again—

And he didn’t want _anyone_ to ever touch him like that again—

And he wanted to ruin Scout, ruin him for anyone else, make anyone else he ever got with ever again pale in comparison to then and there in a shitty motel room, surely minutes away from being kicked out on a noise complaint.

And he finished biting another mark into Scout’s chest, and Scout finished with a borderline wail, nails digging into his back hard enough to hurt, even through the fabric of his shirt.

And then they were coming down, breathing hard, Sniper feeling overheated and weak in the wake of everything.

“I’m sorry,” Scout managed, voice hoarse from all the noise he’d been making. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t’ve done that, that was stupid of me, even if it was a dumb fuckin’ joke.”

Sniper didn’t have his breath back enough to speak yet, just panting against Scout’s chest weakly.

“Hey,” Scout said, tugged on Sniper’s chin, angled his head up to look at him. “Yours.”

“Mine,” Sniper agreed, and got the energy back to pull out at least, to collapse next to Scout, to pull him in tight against his chest, squeezing hard. “And I’m yours, too. Bloody… never do that again. You absolute prick.”

“Promise,” Scout agreed, squeezing back just as hard.


	45. Sniper/Spy, Thin Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“ _Mon cher_ , this is never going to work,” Spy deadpanned, even as he didn’t move, letting Sniper continue with what he was working on.

“Just take it easy, awright?” Sniper laughed, finishing up with tying off Spy’s left hand and starting to work on the right. “If you don’t feel right about it—“

“Oh, I’m not nervous, not at all,” Spy replied, “I just know that this is never going to work.”

“Look, you do this to me bloody—two and three times a week,” Sniper pointed out, checking the tightness on the rope to be sure he hadn’t cut off circulation. “Could you _please_ just indulge me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Spy said, rolling his eyes.

Sniper leaned down and in to kiss him once, soft, and that got Spy to stop griping a little bit, at least.

Then he hummed, drew hands down along Spy’s chest. Pinched at one nipple, then the other for the sake of symmetry. Started kissing at the space below Spy’s jaw, sensitive where he had a bit of bruising from doing the same thing the night before. And Spy relaxed into it, tilted his head obligingly.

“I don’t see what part of this required you tying me down,” Spy drawled. “None of this is any different than you usually are.”

“Well, usually you try and rush me along to what _you_ want to do,” Sniper hummed, low against Spy’s skin. “Or you try and be a tease to rile me up. But now I get to tease you for a while, see how you like it.”

“Is that right?” Spy chuckled. “By all means, go on.”

And he did linger, did spend long minutes drawing his hands across Spy’s skin, followed closely by his mouth. Did tease at every sensitive point he could find, occasionally dragging his nails or employing his teeth for something different, to add some color to the sensations he was trying to get Spy lost in.

And then he decided to escalate the teasing and started trying to get Spy’s pants open—and it was a little fumbly with the odd angle and all, and he tried for an unsuccessful few seconds to work them open before Spy said “Here, let me,” and undid them himself.

Sniper’s head whipped up, and he saw Spy’s eyes were glittering with amusement, and his hands were very much not tied above his head anymore.

He chided and lectured all the way through tying his hands again, this time double-checking his knots and going a bit tighter than he had before. And he set back into teasing, redid all he’d done moments previously before moving to pull Spy free of his pants.

And he teased along Spy’s thighs for a good while, enjoyed indulging in taking things slowly and gently where usually Spy would start getting a little impatient. When it was Spy teasing Sniper he could probably spend hours just lingering, but the moment he was the one being played with he had significantly less patience.

And he’d learned more patience over the course of the two of them being together, but still. The point stood.

And then Sniper stripped down as far as his own briefs, and moved to roll their hips together, grinning at the way Spy’s head rolled back and he choked back a gasp at the first real contact they’d had so far right where he’d wanted it.

And after teasing him with that for a while apparently Spy did finally get impatient, bucking up against Sniper pointedly. And it surprised him, set him off balance, and he was only barely caught from potentially falling over by Spy’s hands steadying his shoulders.

It took him a second to realize what was wrong with that.

“You absolute—“ Sniper muttered, grabbing Spy’s hands with some amount of force and pinning them up above his head. Spy seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. “How do you keep doing that?!”

“I have no idea what you may be referring to,” Spy replied coolly, and Sniper continued to mutter under his breath as he tied Spy’s hands a third time.

He hadn’t even undone the knots, which infuriated him, but he changed how it was knotted anyways just to be safe. And then he gave Spy the most unimpressed look he could muster, managing to keep it firm even as Spy seemed to be on the verge of chuckling outright. “Bloody well _keep them there_ ,” he said sternly.

And through teasing at Spy’s neck some more, he tried to keep an eye on Spy’s hands. Through grinding against him until he was flushed down to his chest and gasping outright, he kept glancing at them. Largely unmoved, maybe shifted slightly this way or that but nothing worth major note.

Then he pulled Spy free of his underwear and started sucking him off slow and teasing just the way he could hardly stand, and about halfway through what he considered to be one of the better blowjobs he’d ever performed in his life, Spy tangled hands into his hair to pet at him approvingly, and Sniper drew back to stare.

“How the bugger do you keep _doing that?!”_ he demanded.

Spy started laughing, which infuriated him more than anything else in the world, but did have the good sense to start explaining. “ _Mon beau_ , I have very thin hands. You would need to use handcuffs if you want me to stay restrained in any way, otherwise it is fairly easy for me to slip loose if you’ve done things at all correctly or safely.”

“You complete snake,” Sniper marveled, even as his annoyance simmered up. He glared for another few seconds in silence before leaning to pick up his shirt and stand.

“No, no, _mon cher_ , come back!” Spy laughed, reaching for him a moment too late as Sniper stood and pulled his pants back on in a few effective motions.

“Bloody well forget it,” Sniper said, snagging his box of cigarettes from the counter and heading for the door. “Get yourself off, then.”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Spy snorted, rolling his eyes before promptly laying back in a manner that he clearly knew was very much attractive. “Is there no way I can perhaps… make it up to you?”

“Find somewhere to buy some damn cuffs,” Sniper deadpanned, and shut the door behind him, leaving Spy to laugh.


	46. Demo/Spy, Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for discussion of past manipulation)

The one thing about Demo that Spy was both most drawn to and most uncomfortable with was his unwavering honesty.

About his emotions, about his past, about his likes and dislikes, about his insecurities and weaknesses—he couldn’t imagine someone more effectively teeing themselves up to be manipulated by someone like him. If he was hired to get information or money or blackmail or anything at all out of Demo, he would consider it the easiest job he’d ever done.

But… some part of him, for the first time in years, felt _wrong_ about that. About even simple manipulations, like being dramatic and acting more offended than he really was to get Demo to drop uncomfortable questions, like redirecting his attention whenever he seemed to be nosing too far into what Spy considered to be his own business and nobody else’s. It felt wrong. And instead, when in an idle chat about their immigration to America, when Demo asked whether he’d managed to get a permanent stay visa and whether his real name was even on it, he outright said that he wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about the process he’d taken to first live in the United States.

And Demo had shrugged and said that was fair and had smoothly changed topics, and that was that. He didn’t ask again.

Infuriating, was the word. It was infuriating how honest he was. It was infuriating how much Spy wanted to return that honesty.

And usually when people opened up to him and he started to feel like he was being impolite for not sharing in return, he would tell them lies, one of three well-crafted well-rehearsed stories he had for his own past that would make the other person feel sufficiently trusted and valued, sometimes since Spy knew he might never feel entirely right sharing details like that and he did want the illusion of connection. But even something as small as that felt wrong. And he huffed about it, told Demo after a story one day that he felt bad for not talking more about himself, and Demo had _laughed_ , had shrugged it off so very easily, said he didn’t tell Spy things as a transaction, he told Spy things because he thought Spy might like knowing those things. Said he would be okay if Spy never told him anything, as long as he knew he was allowed to talk or stay silent at his own discretion, and that Demo wouldn’t judge him.

So completely infuriating.

And the progression from friendly co-workers to friends to good friends to a different sort of friends had brought up a series of similarly infuriating discussions. Mostly Demo trying to get various assurances that Spy didn’t feel at all rushed into anything, that really it was alright if he wasn’t comfortable with pushing forward. And he asked two and three and four times, starting all the way down at holding hands and chaste little kisses, and admitted that mostly he was worried because he couldn’t be entirely certain when Spy was being truthful with him and when he was just gritting his teeth.

Demo admitted, in one of those earlier discussions, that he felt he couldn’t tell when Spy was irritated with him at _all_. Because he rambled on at Spy so often, and still hadn’t figured out how to tell when Spy got bored of him.

And Spy wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him hard and shout that he was _never_ bored of Demo, that Demo was a bottomless well of stories and ideas and culture and opinions and questions that he knew he couldn’t get through if he spent the next hundred years with him but he would enjoy every last moment of trying, even the parts that Demo considered to be so ugly and unlovable, and even more the few glimmering parts that he could dig out and reflect back at Demo to show him that he did have things about himself that he should be proud of.

But the words locked in his throat alongside just about every other word he ever wanted to say to him and instead he’d just smiled and promised to be better at telling Demo if he ever did anything wrong, and assured him that the vast majority of the time his grand theatrical bouts of complaining weren’t legitimate annoyance, he just enjoyed being dramatic from time to time. And all those other words stayed locked in his throat, even as Demo laughed and kissed him heartily on the cheek. And he was so angry with himself, because he didn’t know when he’d started locking those sorts of words away in the very first place, and furthermore he didn’t know how to find the key.

Demo found it for him. Of course he did. How could he not? He’d unlocked all sorts of other things Spy thought he’d never manage again.

And he gave Spy thousands of chances to back out, and another hundred every time they reached those quiet, gentle moments, limbs tangling together against Spy’s satin bedsheets. And despite all of Demo’s fretting, Spy never once felt threatened by the muscle that boxed him in on at least two sides, feeling more safe than anything else.

And Demo was sweet enough to ask every time whether Spy wanted to top, even though the answer was always a pretty confident no. And he was always almost too careful with prep, using it as part of the foreplay as much as anything else, and that was beyond lovely. And he liked to face Spy, liked to kiss and nip just below his jaw, liked to capture his lips for idle moments, taking his time in a way that made Spy fall apart entirely.

And that was the only time he’d found that he could manage honesty, whispered between them every time their lips parted to get air back. He found it there and clung to it, clung to the meager courage he discovered under the weight of pleasure, found himself saying all sorts of things he could never bear when clothed (literally in fabric and metaphorically in the carefully-crafted persona that he couldn’t seem to shed until the moment of raw vulnerability that Demo could bring him to, making love in near-darkness).

That was when he could whisper to Demo how much he loved him. How good Demo made him feel. How happy he was. How perfect everything felt, there, together alone, close. To never stop, to never go.

And he didn’t know how to tell him that he meant it, outside of their bedroom, outside of the moment. Because as soon as the moment was over and the afterglow was fading (always far too fast for his liking), the words were locked away again behind his cyanide teeth and silver tongue. And he knew Demo’s insecurities would feed off of that, would try and convince him that Spy was just running his mouth in the heat of the moment, and he hated that he couldn’t reassure him by continuing to say those things. To say he loved him. To ask Demo to never go.

He instead tried to find that moment sooner, when Demo was peeling his layers away and laving yet another mark against his collarbone where nobody else would see it. He tried to murmur affirmations then, choked on compliments following bearded kisses to the cheek or temple, found himself hesitating between acts of affection.

And one day he did break. Did find himself borderline sobbing, all at once, body wracked with tremors. And in an instant Demo pulled out and away, set to comforting him, trying to soothe him, trying to make right whatever was wrong, and that was when Spy managed it. Managed to spill all that he wanted to say. That this act of vulnerability had never felt vulnerable before, that this show of trust had only ever been for show with practically everyone else he’d ever slept with, that for his entire life he’d been making love to people and now finally he found someone he _loved_ , that Demo was the first person in so long who he wanted to be honest with but he didn’t know _how_.

Demo had listened. Attentively, carefully, concern etched into his face all the while, an open book, practically _annotated_ and with _references_ , in a way that scared him so much because he knew he might not ever be able to reciprocate that honesty on any level and that idea, for the first time, legitimately hurt him. And Demo had gently, picking his words so very carefully, assured him that it was okay. That they would take things as slowly as Spy needed. That he could start by answering a question.

And Demo had kissed him, gently on either cheek just below his eyes, and asked him how he felt.

Better, he answered hesitantly if honestly, there in the wake of spilling his most horrible secrets. Drained.

And Demo had kissed him all over his face then, thanked him for being honest, told him he was so very incredibly brave, telling him all of that, and then being willing to try to continue being brave. And that had gotten to Spy again, gotten him back into those tremors, because Demo was honest. He meant it. _Believed_ it. He really did think Spy was brave.

And god, maybe if Demo believed it, just maybe, it could be true.


	47. Demo/Scout, Novelty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Never?”

“Never.”

“…As in _never?”_

“Fuckin’ _never_ , Cyclops, jeez, how many times do I gotta say it?” Scout blustered, curling up a bit in his embarrassment, starting to pick at some loose stitch of the worn quilt he had as his blanket.

“I… I’m just surprised is all, lad,” Demo admitted, blinking, settling back as he processed the new information. “Thought… the way you tend to talk and all—“

“Fuckin’ _duh_ , if any of the guys knew I was… not, y’know, _experienced_ or whatever, they’d poke fun even more than they already do. I’d get eaten alive out there,” he mumbled, eyes falling.

Demo considered that. To be honest, he’d thought that Scout was probably exaggerating the number of people he tended to sleep with. That was what Scout did with so many other things—he talked a big game and tried to act more confident than he really was in a sort of “fake it ’til you make it” kind of way. That, combined with the way Scout immediately stumbled over his words when asked for any amount of detail, and the way he went red and flustered at the more raunchy jokes Demo and some of the rest of the team tended to make during the rowdier hours of the weekend, made Demo think maybe Scout was all lime, no tequila.

But Scout was also a fairly handsome young man in his prime. He figured at least _someone_ would’ve fallen for that before him.

“Well…” Demo trailed hesitantly when the silence stretched a second too long and Scout started fidgeting. “…what all _have_ you done?”

Scout’s face was going a bit red. He fiddled with his dog tags. “Dated some girls in high school, and, y’know, holding’ hands and bein’ cute and all, I… I’ve gotten little pecks on the cheek or whatever, but, but I barely count that as anything, y’know?”

Demo stared at him. “…Doll, you’re telling me you’d never kissed anyone before me?” he asked, shocked. He ran some mental math, scoured his memory. That meant that Scout had kissed someone four times in his entire life total, including a few moments previously. All chaste and quick and sweet.

Scout hid in his hat.

Demo considered that. “…Why? Why haven’t you?” he asked next.

“I just… I dunno, I, I put way too much stock in that kinda romantic bullshit and I just, I never had the balls to make the first move with anyone, and with kissin’ and—and anything else—I just…” Scout was red up to his ears. “…I wanted it to be special or whatever which is the _girliest_ horseshit—“

Demo cut him off by taking and squeezing his hand, thinking hard on what to say. When he spoke, he worked hard to keep his tone gentle. “…So you want to do all that with me?” he asked, just for clarification.

Scout nodded.

Demo squeezed his hand again, laughing a little. “Well I’d be bloody honored,” he said, flicked the brim of the hat out of Scout’s face to get a look at him, to give him a reassuring smile. “Any idea what you’d…?”

“I… I dunno,” Scout murmured, visibly embarrassed by it, not quite able to hold eye contact. “I… what do people… usually do?”

“Well, you’d bloody, er, start with kissing usually, aye?” Demo suggested, pulling gently on Scout’s hand and guiding him forward, practically into his lap, and let Scout be the one to lean forward and close the distance.

He situated his back comfortably against the wall, and Scout did end up settling into his lap, relaxing slowly but surely over the course of long, unhurried minutes of kissing. Demo largely took control of things—partially because Scout was so nervous about making a fool of himself, he was sure. And he guided Scout through it as gently as he could, coaxed him into opening his mouth—minty, enough that Demo was sure he’d brushed his teeth just before Demo arrived, which was oddly flattering—and into letting Demo play with him. Nipping gently as his lip, making Scout’s breath hitch.

And when Scout had to pull back for air, starting to get overwhelmed, Demo shifted his focus, tilting his head to nip at Scout’s neck, light enough that it surely didn’t hurt in the slightest, just a new sensation that Scout had apparently never tried before. And his breath continued to hitch, and he started choking back little noises as Demo found a nice place further down his neck near his shoulder that would be covered by his uniform shirt and gave him a hickey.

Scout whimpered, and it felt so very incredibly good, the sound washing through him as satisfyingly as a cool breeze on a hot and humid day.

He tried to keep in mind that nobody had ever done these things with Scout before, and tried to show him all sorts of tricks he probably didn’t know. He showed Scout all sorts of sensitive places to kiss and nibble at—his neck, his earlobes, his wrists and the inside of his elbow—and drank in the noises he made, reveled in each reaction and tried to commit them to memory. His kisses were joined soon enough by touches, slipping his hands up beneath Scout’s shirt to meet bare skin, tracing slow lines against the very lean muscle of his lower back and stomach, one questing so far as to reach his chest to tweak at either nipple.

Scout jolted outright, gasped, moaned softly when he did it a second time, and _lord_ , he was gorgeous.

And Tavish DeGroot had not been raised to keep quiet about exactly what he was thinking, so he said so, murmured against his cheek how gorgeous he was, how lovely he looked like this. And Scout practically trembled with it, clinging to Demo’s shoulders, eyes pressed shut tight and face bright red, flustered beyond bravado. And Demo couldn’t help but kiss him again, and again, and Scout kissed back, sloppy and unpracticed but earnest in every way, desperate, and it was as lovely as it was clumsy—more, even.

And when he pulled back he caught Scout by the chin before he could try and hide again, stroking down his hip to grip at his thigh like a promise. And he started to talk— _oh_ , how he started to talk.

“Lovely, doll,” he murmured, eyes lingering on every detail of Scout’s face. “You’re a damn sight, ya ken. Lovely, lovely thing. Like getting pampered a bit, aye? Getting kissed at?”

Scout seemed torn between desperate and nervous, between leaning in and looking away, slightly overwhelmed but needy all the same. “Yeah,” he admitted anyways.

Demo shifted his hold on Scout’s thigh, thumb migrating nearly to his inseam, pressing gently and making a muscle in Scout’s thigh jump beneath his palm. “Ought to let me make a night of it, one of these days,” he mused, stroking at the underside of Scout’s chin and absorbing the way his lashes fluttered. “Just let me lie you out and kiss you all over. See how flustered I can get you before you beg for more. Won’t take much, I think. Haven’t even gotten your shirt off and you’re practically there.”

Scout’s expression shifted towards embarrassment, and he made an earnest attempt to look away, but Demo stopped him with a deep, long kiss, only pulled back when he’d coaxed out another little whimper.

“And that’s lovely too,” he said, hardly above a whisper, and Scout practically sobbed, leaning in towards him, grip tightening.

“Demo, please, fuck, how long are you gonna tease me?” he asked, distressed.

“You want me to touch you, doll?” he asked, direct and outright.

“Yes, fuck, _yes_ , I want you to fucking touch me, c’mon—“ was as far as Scout could get before Demo had worked the button of his pants open and slipped a hand inside.

“Och,” Demo tutted, even as Scout’s hips jerked. “Look at you, you’re all atwitter.”

It really did surprise him a little how riled up Scout already was, but he reminded himself that he tended to have a considerable impact on people who _weren’t_ virgins, and that it really wasn’t that surprising. And he realized within a moment’s thought that Scout surely wouldn’t last all that long, but that was alright—they’d have time to do more later.

And he was right—he didn’t even properly have time to get Scout’s pants down before his hips were jerking more insistently into Demo’s hand and he was yelping, spilling, throbbing under his palm and making sweet little whimpery noises as he returned to earth. 

And then he was hiding, choking out apologies, because fuck, they barely did anything, he hadn’t even gotten to really touch Demo yet, and no time was wasted to start shushing him, showering him in assurances that it was alright, it was fine, he’d have plenty of time to learn, to build up endurance, all of that. They could take things slow. And hey, maybe they could talk more about it in the shower—Scout should really change his pants.

And they did talk in the shower, alongside other things. And Demo looked forward to making good on all his promises.

* * *

He should’ve known Scout would get loud.

To be fair, any number of strange noises might come from the various rooms of the base during the night. Yelling from the infirmary, concerning sorts of noises from Soldier’s room in particular, occasionally someone playing an instrument or loud laughter and conversation. But this was a very different and very distinct sort of noise that he knew would never be mistaken for something else.

At every collision of hips, Scout let out a little yelp of noise, occasionally interrupted by longer, louder moans. And his face was that shade of red he always turned in the bedroom, and he was hot and slick with sweat, and his mouth hung open and gasping at the onslaught.

He’d wanted to take things slow for Scout’s first time, warm him up into it. Give him some fair warning and plenty of time to back out. But then Scout had decided to play a cute game when they were sat at a table with the rest of the team for one of their pop-up card game and drinking nights, and had teased at Demo beneath the table for nearly an hour before finally declaring that he was gonna turn in and that he’d see all of them tomorrow. And Demo had waited ten minutes to not seem terribly conspicuous, and by the time he got to his room Scout was already there on his bed, undressed and idly toying with himself to make as teasing a picture as he could, just to really rile him up.

That, and the begging Scout had done as Demo first pushed in, combined enough to tell him that Scout didn’t want slow. Didn’t want gentle. And Demo was more than willing to deliver.

He held tight onto Scout’s hips, feeling the heat running through him tick up a few degrees as he saw the way Scout so willingly spread his legs as far as he could manage when weak and practically out of his mind in pleasure. He handed himself over with such abandon, with such _trust_ , and it made Demo ache. Made him groan. Made him lean in to press a kiss to Scout’s chest, then to nip as he pulled away, making Scout arch almost mindlessly into the sensation, crying out outright.

“Shush,” Demo half-chuckled into his skin, and Scout’s nails scratched lines up his back, and he was back to gasping, to rolling his hips.

“More,” Scout managed, voice broken, and he obliged, upping his pace as best he could. He folded Scout practically in half in order to get to his mouth, pulling him into a kiss to try and muffle the steady shouting and whimpering escaping Scout’s mouth with every push and pull.

It was a test of his endurance in more than one way, keeping his pace hard and steady without pushing himself over the edge, but he focused hard on his breathing, on the rhythm, on the tremble of Scout’s thighs and the gentle clap of their bodies against each other.

“Demo,” Scout choked into the meager space between them, and Demo couldn’t help but grin at the feeling of Scout’s hand on his cheek, keeping him close and kissing again and again at the corner of his mouth, open-mouthed and sloppy in his distraction. And Demo tried to get a peek at his face and was pleased by the way his eyes were closed, eyelashes fluttering nonetheless, flushed and mindless and gasping.

He felt Scout’s legs flexing, muscles rising into tightness beneath him, and he kept his eyes on Scout’s expression, watching his jaw drop open, wider, wider still. Heard the desperation of his moan, felt him buck, and Demo caught on just a moment before he felt Scout reach between the two of them to tug himself off desperately.

“C’mon,” he urged under his breath, and hoped Scout could hear him over his own groaning, and maybe he did, because Scout came moments later, eyes wet and lips parted in an uneven “O” as he called out his desolation.

Demo’s orgasm was less theatrical, working Scout through and warming him down with a slow series of rolls before he pulled out, tugging himself off and smearing his release against Scout’s thigh, shuddering and breathing hard.

He hardly had time to get his head back on straight before Scout pulled him down with arms around his neck, kissing him slow and clumsy and sweet. And he worked hard not to laugh, sensing that Scout was in a more sensitive state of mind based on the fact that he was acting awfully cuddly just then.

Slow, lazy minutes were spent appreciating the afterglow, and when Scout seemed to slow further, drowsy and comfortable, Demo tried to pull back.

Scout pouted, trying to pull Demo back down, and he chuckled, obliged him once more.

“Want that I clean you up?” Demo asked, a centimeter from Scout’s lips, not being allowed to pull away any further than that.

Scout made an indecisive little noise, kissing at the line where beard started on Demo’s cheek.

“Just sleeping, then?” Demo asked next, chuckling a little, and Scout pulled himself even closer, nosing at his jawline idly, and Demo took that as a yes.

He shifted them both to lie on their sides, allowing Scout to curl up into his chest and kiss across his neck to his heart’s content, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest when Scout drifted off to sleep a few minutes later.

In the morning, he knew Scout would complain about the mess of it all, and would whine to Demo about all the other mercs making fun of him for the cacophony the two of them made, and would be crawling back into his lap again within a few days anyways. Just one taste and he could tell Scout was already hooked.


	48. Sniper/Scout, Fist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for emotional overload, although still with clear and enthusiastic consent)

Scout whimpered on each exhale, head rolled back, neck exposed in such a way that Sniper very much wanted to lean in and get his mouth on it were he not otherwise occupied.

It was something Scout admitted he’d wanted to try for a pretty long time, a recurring fantasy of sorts. Not such a surprising one—Scout was _very_ much into bottoming, and had only topped once or twice at Sniper’s direct request. He was one of the rare sorts who could finish untouched while getting fucked, and on a few occasions Sniper had been coaxed into stretching him further than was strictly necessary for the main act.

So this step up into Sniper trying to work his whole hand in, well, it didn’t really catch Sniper by surprise.

Half of it, Scout had admitted, flushed up to his ears, was how big Sniper’s hands were. The other half was just the idea of it, of Sniper being wrist-deep, stretching him open and open and open—

Just talking about it had gotten Scout so worked up he’d ended up sucking Sniper off then and there, which was evidence enough for Sniper that he really did mean it.

It had been slow going, working Scout up to four fingers. He’d been so worked up that he was a bit more tense than usual, and Sniper had made the call that he wouldn’t be able to control himself long enough to go the full distance and had tied his wrists up above his head so he wouldn’t try and reach for himself. And about the third time Scout wiggled so much that Sniper’s fingers nearly slipped out, he’d tied his legs ankle-to-thigh to put a stop to that, leaving Scout pinned open and vulnerable in a way that set him to shivering and made Sniper need to stop entirely for a few minutes lest he accidentally send Scout over the edge.

Four fingers deep had Scout already well into ecstasy, mind clearly turned to jelly, half-begging half-pleased noises spilling from his lips every time he shifted. His dick was leaking all over his lower stomach, and he was sweating and flushed from head to toe, and his eyes were rolled back in a way that was very rewarding.

It was a little hard to tell exactly when Scout was ready for more when he was reduced to gibberish, but Sniper was taking things almost painfully slow either way, both because he didn’t want to hurt Scout and because he didn’t want Scout to finish yet.

So he pushed and pulled, rotated his hand in small amounts, added just a bit more lube for good luck and thanked his foresight to put a towel down. Scout mostly just whimpered and moaned, entire body rocking with even the most minute motions. Sniper flickered his fingers just to make Scout’s voice rise almost into a howl, just to hear him groan in complaint when Sniper stopped, body falling still again.

He stroked his free hand up Scout’s stomach and back down again to squeeze his hip. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly, more to give Scout the comfort of his voice than to get an answer. “There’s a beaut. Just take it easy, there.”

The closest thing that night to a moan fraught with discomfort came as Sniper managed to work his knuckles in and out once, twice, getting him used to the stretch. It was unbelievable how tight Scout was, but how far he was capable of going anyways. And Sniper knew he was going to be wacking off to high heaven as soon as he could, very much finding the show to be beyond erotic, but in the mean time he was more concerned with staying focused, keeping Scout there at a manageable level of pain and pleasure.

He watched Scout’s dick twitch and leak with another push and pull, and god, it was almost too much.

“Just a bit further, love,” Sniper soothed, free hand smoothing down his inner thigh gently as he made one more firm push to be sure before he pulled his hand out enough to readjust, trying to find a good shape to get his hand in. “Ready?”

Scout’s head whipped up when he was hit with the realization, and his expression was hazy and disoriented, but he couldn’t have been more clear the way he nodded, the way he got his words back enough to stammer out “do it, do it, fuckin’ do it—“ until Sniper did.

He felt his concentration narrow, watching every tic and every twitch of Scout’s muscles, every shift of his expression, every centimeter being a careful calculation as he pushed. And he glanced down once or twice to see how much further he had to go, and was extremely impressed with how well Scout was handling this.

Until his thighs twitched and some muscles in his lower abdomen twitched and suddenly Scout let out a bark of noise, tension rocketing up through his shoulders and arms, making him strain against his bonds. Sniper froze immediately. “You awright?” he asked softly.

“Fuck—fuck—“ Scout gritted out, eyebrows drawn together hard. And Sniper pulled out a few crucial centimeters, and Scout slowly, slowly relaxed enough to breathe a sentence or two. “That was—too—too good too fast and I was—I almost came—f-fuck—“

His voice was all shivery, and he practically sounded on the verge of tears, and Sniper suddenly wished that this wasn’t going to completely obliterate Scout because he wanted to fuck him _so badly_ , he looked so desperate and sweet and vulnerable and debauched.

“Snipes, I wanna come,” Scout suddenly pleaded, still desperate and whimpery. “I-I-I wanna come. Please. Please, fuck, I—“

“You told me not to let you come until I was wrist-deep,” Sniper reminded him gently, free hand stroking up his stomach again. “And we’re nearly there.”

Scout’s chest was heaving, muscles pulled taut.

“You can hold out, love,” Sniper said, “I know you can.”

“Just fuckin’ hurry up,” Scout managed, and Sniper hesitated for only another few seconds before he started pushing in again.

It was easy from then on, Sniper taking it slow and steady, and he was mesmerized by the way Scout shifted and writhed and shivered under the onslaught of sensation. Then they passed the widest point, and then he was in, sinking up to the wrist and feeling heat spring through his body at the moan of abject pleasure Scout released.

An overwrought whimper on every exhale, Scout starting to struggle in earnest against his bonds as he tried to roll down into it, tried to get some kind of movement or friction or pressure or _anything_. Sniper indulged him in the lightest push-and-pull, and it had Scout shouting outright, head thrown back again.

“Feel good?” Sniper asked quietly.

Scout gritted out something in the affirmative. His breath was back to fast and hard. “I’m so fuckin’ close, Snipes,” he managed once he had himself reasonably under control.

Sniper hummed to show he heard, shifting his hand slightly out and then back in again, hardly anything at all. But that was enough to make Scout cry out again. Every minute shift had Scout jerking bodily, had him shouting, practically howling. His eyes were wet, threatening to overflow, and he was covered in sweat, and his dick was throbbing and leaving dampness across his stomach, and every part of this was so messy, and Scout had never looked more desperate for anything.

And soon enough he was begging, babbling, begging Sniper to please touch him—“I am touching you, love,”—to please touch him he was gonna come please _touch him_ —“Well, since you asked nicely…”

And Sniper stroked Scout, teasing and light, saw the way his chest was heaving with every breath, saw him tense, and then he yelled, _screamed_ , and then he came, struggling to inhale, shivering, trembling bodily.

And Sniper winced a little at the discomfort of Scout’s muscles crushing his hand, but focused more on trying to read when he should pull back out. The answer was almost immediately, because even as Scout was untensing and coming back down he was wracked with sobs.

Sniper did cleanup as quickly as he could manage and untied Scout, chest aching, even as he wasn’t particularly surprised. He knew this happened on occasion, that sometimes (as Scout explained it) he would recover from being overwhelmed physically before he was done emotionally and he just—

Just needed a minute.

And Sniper held on to him tightly, rolling him onto his side and spooning him from behind, pressing kisses to the back of his neck and head to help soothe him, hands stroking idly over his sides and stomach and a little ways down his thighs. And Scout seemed to be taking a much longer time to recover than usual—not surprising—but he leaned back into the attentions nonetheless.

And then he was fizzling out into soft, shaky breathing, and shifted back against Sniper more deliberately, and Sniper’s breath caught as Scout grinded back against him. He caught Scout by the hip with one hand to stall him. “Love…” he trailed.

“C’mon, you gotta get off too,” Scout mumbled, voice quiet, and Sniper considered talking about it further for only a few moments before giving in, shifting their position slightly before starting to roll his hips forward.

And admittedly, even taking things slow and steady, not particularly rushing, he’d been set so on edge from the show that he knew this wouldn’t take long. And it wasn’t terribly long before Scout was more overtly rocking back against him, having recovered some meager amount of energy, urging him on, making heat jump into Sniper’s veins to carry him higher. And Scout shifted at one point to be slightly higher on the bed, and Sniper swore into his shoulder when he was guided to fuck the space between Scout’s thighs, and it was over not long later, a much less full-bodied and overwhelming orgasm but a satisfying one nonetheless.

And later, once Scout got his brains unscrambled, they ended up talking more, and Scout admitted that he probably wouldn’t be able to handle something that intense on the regular, but also that was the best thing and please could they do that again at some point? Maybe on his birthday or something? Please? And Sniper agreed wholeheartedly.


	49. Sniper/Scout, Video

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“Did someone order a pizza?” asked the suspiciously muscly man on the screen in a tone that human beings almost never use.

“Christ,” Sniper muttered.

“Oh, yeah,” said the girl on screen, twirling her hair, hip jutting entirely inappropriately in what might as well have been a swimsuit for how much of her body was exposed. “I ordered a pizza.”

“ _Christ,_ ” Sniper repeated.

“Shuttup,” Scout laughed, reaching back to tug Sniper’s hat down over his face.

They were lounged back on the little couch in Scout’s room, Scout sat between the Y of Sniper’s legs and leaned back against his chest, looking at the little TV Scout had snatched up when they replaced the one in the common room for a better one. Scout hadn’t needed to say anything except the title of the ‘film’ they were watching for Sniper to understand what was going on.

“Well then how do you think you’re gonna pay for this pizza?” the pizza delivery man asked, the line coming out flat and toneless and fake.

“Well,” the woman on screen said, adjusting her breasts pointedly in a way that was entirely unnatural, “I’m sure I can think of a few ways.”

“This is the sort of thing you’re into?” Sniper asked dryly.

“Snipes, I don’t watch this shit for the goddamn storyline, alright?” Scout sighed, clearly rolling his eyes. “It ain’t about that. It’s about getting off. What, you gotta have some real high-production crap? You got some real specific kink or somethin’?”

“No, I’m just only into blokes,” Sniper corrected, eyes moving back to the screen. “And clearly this is meant for people who like women.”

Scout made a vague “whatever” sort of noise, and they went quiet again. Sniper didn’t feel particularly aroused, to be frank, but he did feel his face heating up a bit as he considered their situation. There in Scout’s room, watching a dirty film together. He glanced at the door twice to check that it was locked, and hoped that there wasn’t anyone who would be walking by who might hear the television through the door.

He looked at Scout at one point, looking over his face as best he could, trying to figure out what he was thinking. And he glanced down Scout’s body, and his eyebrows rose as he saw that clearly Scout was getting pretty well affected by the way the woman on the screen was starting in on a very, very messy blowjob.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually getting off to this?” Sniper asked, amused, hands trailing over Scout’s thighs to demonstrate what he meant.

Scout jumped a little, almost as if guilty, head twisting to try and look up at Sniper. “Fuckin’ _what_ , Snipes? It’s porn. That’s the point,” he said defensively, looking back towards the screen again, face a little red.

“And what are you getting off to, exactly?” Sniper asked, smirking. “The idea of getting blown by some sheila, or the idea of doing the blowing?”

Scout shifted under Sniper’s hands as he ran them further up his thighs, breath catching. He swallowed. “Like you’re not getting turned on lookin’ at this too,” he muttered, wriggling pointedly and making Sniper grunt as there was some amount of pressure paid to his groin.

“Mm, but not by the film, Bilby. I’m looking at a _much_ more gorgeous sight,” he murmured into Scout’s hair, one hand trailing up his front feather-light.

Scout went to look up at him again, but Sniper caught him by the chin, turned his face back forward.

“Watch the screen, Bilby,” he said, low and full of gravel, and Scout shivered bodily and did as he was told.

Sniper rewarded him with more light, teasing touches, one hand feeling out his chest and the other tracing gently over his thighs. It made an interesting counterpoint to what was going on onscreen, the man having taken two handfuls of hair as he fucked the young woman’s mouth roughly. Scout kept shifting, impatient and uncertain and twitchy, but he didn’t get much of anywhere.

Sniper’s eyes flicked back up towards the screen as the dynamic shifted, the woman being bent over a table near the door, and would you believe it—she didn’t happen to remember underwear that morning beneath her skirt. And Sniper rolled his eyes a little bit, even as he gave Scout the mercy of shuffling his pants a short way down his thighs and stroking over the bulge in his briefs lightly, just with his fingertips.

Scout could only tolerate that for a short while before he made a pleading little noise, thighs spreading wider and head falling back. Sniper took mercy even as he nudged Scout’s head back up again, tugging the waistband down and taking hold of him, squeezing and starting to stroke in the most teasing barely-there little motions.

He very much enjoyed listening to each gasp and catch in his breath, in tracking between what reactions were caused by his hand and what reactions were caused by the video. He traced his thumb in a tight little circle against the head of Scout’s dick in rhythm with the vigorous fucking happening on screen and smirked at the little moan it wrenched out of him, a lovely harmony with the woman bent over the table.

He looked at Scout’s face and his eyebrows furrowed as he noticed that his eyes were closed. “Open your eyes, Bilby,” he instructed, quiet but firm.

“I don’t wanna come yet,” Scout managed, pleadingly, desperately. “I just wanna—last a little—longer—“

“I said open your eyes,” Sniper repeated, hand gone still, and Scout’s eyes fluttered back open, gaze turning to meet his, and oh, he really was close. And his hand started moving again, and Scout moaned outright, eyes dropping closed again against his will, and Sniper felt him twitch in warning in his hand, saw his teeth digging into his lip in a familiar way, and then a moment later Scout was done for, panting hard with a wheezy sort of whimper on each exhale as he spilled over Sniper’s knuckles.

And he kept his hand moving, really wrung Scout dry, kept on until he was pushed away outright, and then Scout relaxed against his chest, exhausted and defeated. Scout then fumbled to one side weakly before finding the remote and managing to turn the TV off.

“Good?” Sniper asked, amused.

Scout said something that was almost words, shifting just enough to press his cheek against his shoulder.

“At least I got _one_ show to watch and enjoy tonight,” Sniper joked, and was whapped in the thigh.


	50. Demo/Scout, Cheerleader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

“This joke was a lot funnier in my head,” Scout said from Demo’s bathroom, door very decidedly closed.

“You’re stalling,” Demo called in reply.

“Like, _way_ funnier. Can I—can I like, change my idea? And do somethin’ else? Because this is… it’s not that funny, it’s, it’s just embarrassing and dumb,” Scout insisted.

“I don’t think so,” Demo chuckled. “C’mon, doll, how long do you plan to keep me waiting?”

“I’m just mad because this is dumb because I can’t even get you back on this. Like, you _already_ wear a skirt every day.”

“It’s a kilt, skirts are more lightweight and fewer layers, just get out here already,” Demo corrected easily, and there was a long pause before Scout opened the door.

His face was red, but more red was his outfit.

Straight out of a sorority’s Halloween party was the cheerleader’s uniform, the stockings twenty times longer than the tiny little nothing of a skirt, pleated and hemmed up (as if that was needed), with the top turning down at the collar in a V so deep that he was fairly sure Medic could operate on Scout’s chest through it. And speaking of collars, Scout had on one of those too, bright red like the uniform and with a cute little bell at the front.

Demo whistled appreciatively, and Scout stalked out of the bathroom to stand in front of him, every muscle stiff and making a great show of rolling his eyes and trying to make it not terribly obvious when he glanced at the front of Demo’s boxers, taking note of his physical appreciation making itself known. 

“This doesn’t even fit,” he grumbled, and admittedly it did fit strangely at some parts of the top, and surely was meant to cover _slightly_ more of his thighs, but Demo wasn’t exactly going to go write the costume company over it. “Can I take this off now?”

“Or I can take it off of you, save you the trouble,” Demo suggested with a waggle of eyebrows and a flick to the bell on the collar, and that broke through Scout’s little reluctance act just a bit, made him really have to fight down the grin that tried to pull at his face.

“Wow babe, you’d do that for me?” he asked in a similarly joking tone. “Fuckin’ hero.”

“It _is_ an awful lot of work,” Demo mused, and tugged on the loose front of the shirt to get Scout to move in closer, within reach of his hands to allow him to start exploring further, eye drawing along the details with appreciation. “Think there’s anything you could do to repay me, doll?”

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already,” Scout laughed, and he did, starting with the exposed skin of Scout’s stomach, making Scout continue laughing.

His laughter faded off into a gasp as Demo’s hands slid up his thighs beneath the skirt, tracing his thumbs meaningfully against his skin.

And he saw the twinkle of amusement in Demo’s eye for the second and a half before Demo promptly tucked the front of the skirt up enough to duck his head beneath, and Scout felt his face go bright red even before he felt the pleasant rasp of beard against the inside of his thigh, the precursor to a sweet little kiss.

“Just wore the jock, aye doll?” Demo asked, sounding amused.

Scout was halfway through his “Uh, yeah I actually—“ before it was cut off with a very embarrassing half-whimper, Demo mouthing at his bulge at an amount of pressure that made his legs jitter for a second.

And then he did it again, and then a third time so much slower than the previous two, and Scout could feel the moist heat of his mouth just on the other side of the fabric and oh fuck—

He bent and gripped at Demo’s shoulders as he felt his legs jitter again and flushed further at the little jingle of the bell on the collar, and Demo secured his hands on the outside of Scout’s thighs to better situate the both of them, pulling Scout in and trapping his legs together between Demo’s knees to keep them more secure. He then guided one of Scout’s hands to instead take hold of the edge of the skirt and promptly tugged Scout’s jock a short way down his legs to free him, wasting no time before starting to kiss and lick at his very-quickly-hardening dick.

Scout worked hard for as long as he could manage to not make noise, but when Demo finally sealed his lips around his cockhead he couldn’t help but release a little groan, surely wrinkling the fabric of the skirt from how hard he was clutching it, trying to hold it out and away enough for Demo to work uninterrupted.

And he half wanted to try and roll his hips forward to match the bobbing he set into, but he realized with the way his legs were trapped he couldn’t really do that, or move much at all, and with the skirt in the way he couldn’t get any kind of hold on Demo’s head. He just had to take the attention Demo gave to him and hope for more.

…Okay. So that combined with the skirt and collar thing actually being kind of nice meant maybe Scout was learning some things about himself. He’d… revisit that.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Demo giving a gentle squeeze to his balls as he sank forward that much further, and fuck, okay, he needed to move this along or he wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

“Demo— _oh!”_ he gasped, breath hitching at the flick of Demo’s tongue just under the head on the next pass. “Don’t you w—fuck—wait, don’t you— _hah_ —wanna fuck me?”

Demo pulled back and gave a parting kiss to the head before resurfacing, giving Scout a cheeky grin. “Love to, doll,” he said, one hand migrating up his thigh to pinch at one cheek teasingly, making Scout squeak and flush all the more. “Care to have a ride?”

“Y-yeah,” he agreed quickly, and the moment Demo freed him he motioned for Demo to move back just a bit, which he did without protest, quickly and efficiently shedding his boxers and tank. Scout in turn moved to tug the jock the rest of the way off and straddle him, shifting into the position they tended to take when the night went in this particular direction, and Demo stopped him with hands on his hips.

“Leaving the skirt on?” he asked.

Scout gave him a look. “Figured you’d complain if I didn’t. You sayin’ you want it off?”

“Said no such thing,” Demo replied, grinning a little again.

“Then quit complainin’,” Scout mumbled, and tried to sink down again, but again Demo held him off.

“Doll, don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I… prepped in the bathroom,” Scout mumbled, flushing at the admission.

“Well, can never be too careful,” Demo said with a peck to Scout’s cheek, and leaned to snag the spare bottle of lube from the dresser, slicking himself up and wiping his hand off on his discarded tank. “Alright, ready when you are.”

He was sweet enough to do the work of angling himself and adjusting the skirt so Scout could sink down more easily, and as always had the courtesy to keep still until Scout was seated and adjusted, and he even made these lovely little groans a few times along the way, kicking Scout’s own pleasure up a level. And he had to take a few moments to just breathe, and glanced down and started to flush again when he saw the tent at the front of the skirt that he was making, but he couldn’t dwell on it long before Demo was tilting his head back up and pulling him into a kiss.

And it was overwhelming and distracting in the good way, in such a good way that he barely noticed when he started shifting his hips down to fuck himself, and it was only brought to his attention by one thing.

A little ringing sound.

He pulled back from the kiss to give a baffled look to Demo, who seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh as the ringing sound happened again and Scout pieced together that it was coming from the little bell on the collar.

“Oh, fuck no,” Scout said immediately.

“Aww, doll,” Demo started, but Scout cut him off.

“No, fuck off, I already put on the sock and the fuckin’—the stupid cheerleader outfit, I’m—fuck you.”

“Harsh,” Demo chided.

“Well, I’m not gonna wear the stupid collar if it’s gonna make that stupid noise the whole time!” Scout protested.

And he had to work hard not to immediately relax when Demo cupped his cheek in one warm hand. “Doll, please? Won’t ask this of you ever again if you’d like, but just once?” he asked, and damn it. Demo could ask him just about anything and it would sound tempting.

“Might change my mind later,” Scout warned.

“Aye, fair,” Demo said, and Scout didn’t give any warning before he rolled into motion just to see the way Demo’s mouth fell open around a silent gasp.

And he rode like a champion, he knew that. But he was thrown slightly off his rhythm by the light jingle of the bell on the collar and the way Demo was looking at him, eye wide and expression very much pleased as he drew his gaze over everything Scout had to offer. And for a second he felt uncharacteristically embarrassed, and realized belatedly that he couldn’t even hide like this, couldn’t look away, and maybe some amount of his sudden insecurity showed on his face and in his faltering motions, because Demo started in with the compliments in an instant.

“Lovely,” he said, voice low and rough, “so lovely, doll, really you are. Can’t believe you’d dress up like this, too damn gorgeous.”

Scout bit his lip to keep quiet, knowing that if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t be able to control what he said next, or any of his noises, which were already rising up into his throat despite his best efforts.

“Dinnae think you’d ever go along with it, but lord, I’m glad you did, doll. Ought to lay you out and give you a proper thanks, but maybe later,” he continued, that glitter in his eye again even alongside the growing heat, and Scout’s breath caught on the exhale and was trailed by a short whine, and Demo laughed breathlessly. “There he is. Go on, doll, I wanna hear ye.”

And he did, Scout bending forward just a bit and relaxing at the shoulders just a touch as little moans started to escape his mouth, and the tiny little ache of shame in his chest that the bell and the skirt and the stockings brought him for some reason drove him all the faster towards release. And he shoved the skirt up out of the way to tug at himself, impatient, and Demo’s thumb tickled just at the soft part of the inside of his thigh, drawing his nail down the place where his inseam usually laid, and that was it, he was spilling into his hand with a few hard swears, and he could feel Demo’s stomach tighten beneath his hand as a warning before it was over for him too, done in by a combination of things.

And he was panting, resting, trying to get ahold of himself, and with his clean hand he did reach up to tug the collar off, feeling suddenly restricted, and Demo didn’t complain.

“What if you wore this to work?” Demo asked weakly.

Scout smacked him on the stomach, and he laughed, and Scout fought hard not to laugh too. It was a losing battle.


	51. Demo/Sniper, Tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Sniper was awake, but only barely, and didn’t much feel the need to change that fact when he was so comfortable and contented.

He was curled in against Demo’s chest, arm slung around him, and he felt warm and comfortable just lying there and breathing in what smells lingered of Demo’s shower the previous night—the smell of the soap he used was something that settled into his nose like the familiarity of a campfire, soothing even as it tried to coax him into wakefulness.

He felt Demo’s fingertips kneading softly into his scalp, and he fought the way the corner of his mouth tried to tick up at it, blinking his eyes open just a fraction.

His eyes landed on one of the many little scars that dotted Demo’s body, following the line and shape of it idly until he saw the next one, and the next, and the next. And he couldn’t help the temptation of shifting his arm to trace over one of them, what looked like some old shrapnel wound over his ribcage, feeling out the texture of it.

“Awake, Mundy?” Demo rumbled, voice rough with sleep. Sniper hummed something vaguely affirmative. “Good t’hear. Just thinkin’ about breakfast.”

Sniper hummed again, went quiet for a moment. “Eggs?” he suggested.

“Sure,” Demo agreed. “How’s this—I make coffee, you make eggs.”

Sniper nodded, but couldn’t seem to force his arms to move to let Demo get up out of bed, just holding on, tracing a different scar with the same level of interest.

“Somethin’ to say there, Mund?” Demo asked after a brief moment of quiet, sounding amused.

“Nah,” Sniper replied quietly. “Just… tired is all.”

“Och, bloody get your Aussie arse up here,” Demo chuckled, pulling Sniper up to lie with his head against his shoulder, in range of where he could lie a series of pecks against his head. Sniper couldn’t help but smile at it. “You’re the sweetest thing just after you’ve woken up, ya ken.”

“The blokes would disagree,” Sniper mumbled.

“The blokes can keep their opinions to themselves,” Demo mumbled right back, kissing him on the head again.

“Sweet-talker,” Sniper accused, trying to hide his smile.

Demo hummed, not particularly in agreement or disagreement. Allowed a few moments of silence to fall between them. Moved his arm as if to disengage.

Before he could get the chance, Sniper put a hand on his shoulder. Shifted to sit up, to straddle Demo’s waist, trapping him there with his weight.

“Somethin’ to say there, Mund?” he asked again, even more amused than before.

Sniper considered the question. “…Yeah,” he mumbled, and leaned in to capture Demo’s lips in a kiss.

He was wrapped up in a pair of warm, strong arms within moments, the kiss gentle and soothing even as it drew him through to wakefulness. They kissed, and they kissed, and Demo kneaded a gentle shape into his shoulder, making Sniper grunt and melt forward even further into his hold, posture-stiff muscles making way for relative relaxation under the subtle pressure.

He pulled back enough to nose at the soft part of Demo’s neck, just past the beard, teeth pressing but not digging in, followed by a firm sort of kiss, then a gentler one, gentler still.

“Someone’s in a nice mood this morning,” Demo noted.

“Woke up awright. Got this boyfriend who fixed my mood up, though,” he replied, and kissed at Demo’s neck some more, idly fascinated by the feeling of Demo chuckling beneath him.

“Aye, same for me,” he admitted happily, and pulled Sniper back up into a real kiss, then a second, then a brief third. “Is breakfast going to be waiting a while, Mund?”

He considered the question. “Yeah,” he admitted.

“Fair, steady on,” Demo shrugged, and pulled him into another kiss.

Lazy minutes, heavy limbs, steady motions. Sniper had a hand on Demo’s shoulder to steady himself and keep his balance, and found himself enthralled by the thrum of his heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his warmth. Found himself blinking his eyes open to catch how peaceful Demo’s expression was, just for the moment, pulling away and stroking a thumb across his collarbone.

Demo blinked up at him, smiling sheepishly under the sudden direct attention. Sniper smoothed a hand down to tuck fingers below his waistband in a question. Demo’s eye twinkled and he nodded, and they set about pulling free of what small amount each of them wore to sleep in.

“Why do we bother wearing anything to bed?” Sniper mumbled, moving carefully to avoid knocking sharp knees and elbows into uncomfortable places.

“Oi, gets chilly,” Demo chided, guiding Sniper back to how he’d been previously as he finished kicking his boxers off. “Thin thing like you’d freeze to death.”

“Thanks, Tavish,” he deadpanned, and Demo’s laugh shook him, his hands pulling Sniper back down into another kiss.

“You know I love you, doll, every part,” he reminded playfully when they parted, and Sniper couldn’t hold on to his grim expression, felt it slide away into a begrudging smile.

“Yeah. I do,” he admitted. “I do.”

Demo smiled right back, and Sniper decided to end the conversation there before either of them could possibly get any more sappy, nudging his boxers off the bed and settling back in against Demo.

And there was that thing he liked, Demo’s head rolling back slightly and his chest rising and falling with a groan, only audible at the very tail end of it, low and lovely. And then Demo looked back up at him, smoothed hands up his thighs, trailed fingertips up through the hair on his stomach and chest in a lovely motion as he rolled his hips lightly, coaxing them both to full hardness in no particular hurry.

“Bloody nice having a boyfriend to wake up with,” Demo chuckled. Sniper hummed in agreement, reaching between them for the first firm touch of the morning, grin pulling at his face as he saw the flutter of Demo’s eye and breath in response as Sniper gave him a single trailing sort of stroke, thumb teasing at the edge of his foreskin.

Demo could only lie idle and allow himself to be played with for so long before he reached to return the favor, and Sniper hummed in satisfaction at the feeling of a big, warm hand teasing and drawing fingertips through where moisture was accumulating at the head and slicking him up and teasing some more.

There was a vaguely ticklish feeling as sweat dripped down his thigh, his back. Demo’s free hand idly switched between stroking down over the planes of his body and playing with his balls, both making him shiver in slightly different ways.

“Tavish,” Sniper managed to pant, and Demo’s grip on his member tightened, sped, became even and regular, and he groaned and jittered as he finally spilled, mess largely caught by Demo’s hand. And then Demo’s hand joined his to finish him off moments later, and Sniper allowed himself a full thirty seconds of quiet and still before he leaned up to grab some tissues.

They cleaned up quietly, no words needed, the gentle expression Demo was wearing and Sniper’s own calm and ease speaking more eloquently than either of them could ever manage.

“Eggs?” Sniper asked, just to make sure he remembered correctly.

“And coffee,” Demo confirmed, and pulled him back down very briefly before letting him out of bed, delivering a sound kiss to the side of his head. “You’re a treasure, Mund.”

“You,” Sniper replied, and stood, and stretched, and started making breakfast.

And some mornings he would wake up and wonder if things could possibly be this good forever. But not this time. No, not this time.


	52. Sniper/Scout, Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for crying)

Startling and alarming in a kind of way he wasn’t entirely used to experiencing, for an interesting mix of novelty and unpreparedness that left him confused and paralyzed.

The squeak of box springs wasn’t particularly noisy, just repetitive, rhythmic. Less rhythmic was Scout’s breathing beneath him, catching and hitching on the exhale every few breaths. And one of Scout’s hands gripped at his hip almost too-tightly, the other’s knuckles occasionally brushing against Sniper’s stomach as he tugged at himself, not fast enough to get off too quickly but fast enough to scratch the itch.

And it was hot, even with the window open across Scout’s room, hot enough that he wished he’d gone to the effort of getting his undershirt off before they’d tumbled into bed, but he couldn’t stop to take it off now, not with his head spinning into cloud nine and tension rising in his gut and trailing towards his thighs.

And he managed a warning, and Scout nodded enthusiastically through shaking breath, and short minutes later Sniper finished himself off in a series of long, slow thrusts, pulling out carefully once the pleasure faded into discomfort after a moment.

And he leaned up onto his elbows to ask Scout how he wanted to finish and noticed first how shaky his breathing had gotten, followed closely by how wet his face was, followed closely by the fact that it wasn’t sweat.

“Scout?” Sniper asked quietly, surprised and confused and shaken, leaning up to get a better look at his face, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder. Scout responded with a pair of hands on his shoulders, rolling Sniper off of him to instead lie on his side between Scout and the wall. Scout then promptly latched on to suck a mark in against his collarbone, languid and distracted. “Scout, are—are you awright?”

Scout hummed a feeble kind of agreement, pulling Sniper in closer, and after a hesitant moment Sniper reached to put a hand on Scout’s waist.

A pause. “I—do you want… me to go on?” he managed, voice stilted, and Scout hummed that agreement again, and Sniper paused for another moment before shifting their positions slightly, one arm slipping between them and the other wrapping around behind Scout to slide between his thighs.

In almost every way, it was the same as how they so often were, Scout hooking a leg up over his hip and rolling into the motion of his hands and gasping against Sniper’s neck. But wherever his cheeks brushed against Sniper’s shoulders it left dampness, and on particularly hard gasps they almost sounded like hiccups, and it made Sniper shift to be a little softer, to smooth out the general rough playfulness he often fell into with Scout. And Scout still came hard, still had to muffle himself into Sniper’s shoulder, but it was with a sob rather than a moan, and he was still gaspy for much longer than usual, still shaky and uncoordinated.

Sniper didn’t know what to do. But luckily, it didn’t seem like he needed to do much of anything.

Scout pulled his undershirt up and used the front of it to mop at his own face, motions clumsy and awkward, and while his face was a little puffy his eyes were clear, just sleepy, for fair reasons. But Sniper couldn’t exactly pretend nothing happened, so despite how thick and stupid he knew he tended to sound, he tried to speak anyways.

“You awright?” he attempted.

“Yeah,” Scout agreed loosely, smoothing Sniper’s shirt back out.

“You… sure?” he said slowly, cautiously.

Scout’s face fell a little. “Yeah, it’s… yeah. Uh.” His gaze trailed down over Sniper’s face. “Sorry.”

“No, just—I’m just worried, s’all,” Sniper clarified.

“Yeah.” Scout scrubbed at one of his eyes with his cleaner hand. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I wanna sleep.”

“Sure,” Sniper agreed, and let Scout maneuver them, found himself with his back to the wall and an arm over Scout, holding him warmly but not too tightly. And Scout was out like a light in less than a minute, and Sniper couldn’t help but follow right after.

And in the morning Scout really did end up explaining, if sheepishly, if flustered. But if nothing else, he got the assurance that he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and that if anything it was far too right. That was answer enough for him.


	53. Sniper/Scout, Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for consensual knives and a general sense of panic)

His hands were shaking, and the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing was more like a series of tremors than anything else. And everywhere that Scout made contact—quite a lot of places, considering how heavily he was leaned back against him—he was damp with sweat. He couldn’t have looked more stressed, more panicked, but apparently that was part of the draw.

Even just having Scout so thoroughly trapped was a treat. Hands tied behind his back tightly to allow no room for movement, sat practically in Sniper’s lap, Sniper using his own legs to keep Scout’s too spread apart to get any sort of leverage. The rest of the work—getting Scout to lie so tightly against his chest—didn’t need to be done with any kind of bondage. Instead he kept him there with the knife in his hand, pressing slow lines into his skin.

Scout was such a scrawny thing. It made the planes of his body, his meager musculature, his ribcage and hip bones and the veins of his neck, all stand out all the more starkly. And Sniper found it was almost soothing, tracing over every ridge and line and edge with the sharp tip of a knife. Never pressing hard enough to cut through skin, just hard enough to leave a little line, first white then pink then a pale sort of red.

He shifted his grip on the knife. For a second, Scout trembled hard.

He moved to trace along Scout’s pectorals. Scout’s response to that was to arch against Sniper all the harder, which was to be expected, he knew Scout’s chest was fairly sensitive. He found himself very much enjoying following along with the rise and fall of Scout’s chest, amused by how Scout seemed to be trying to control his breathing, trying not to move at all, even.

A brief pause before Sniper let the blade graze inward, trailing briefly against his sternum, before finding the skin just to one side of Scout’s nipple and starting to apply more pressure, more, just ever-so-slightly-more before letting up again.

Scout’s breath was short and uneven, and as Sniper trailed the tip of the knife in to just barely make contact with the sensitive skin of his nipple, a whimper rose up in Scout’s throat. It made Sniper grin.

He shifted his grip on the knife.

Scout froze stock-still—might have even stopped breathing—as the knife pressed flat against the front of his throat, then slowly slid upward until the sharp curve was nestled in just beneath his chin.

Scout slowly tilted his head back as a kind of innate survival instinct, trying to escape the knife, and had to stop when his head made contact with Sniper’s shoulder and he had nowhere else to go. And he was left arched uncomfortably, chest heaving, neck so very exposed, just the way Sniper wanted him.

He dipped his head down to graze the stubble of his cheek against Scout’s comparatively smooth one, his only warning before lips found his pulse point and latched on. A few moments to let the trembling man in his lap get used to that before Sniper opened his mouth and bit down, harder than he’d been pressing the knife, even, albiet with his teeth not being quite as sharp.

Barely a second’s pause before a short wail of noise left Scout’s mouth, almost startlingly loud after so long of subtle changes in breathing broken by whisper-quiet whines. In an instant Sniper’s free hand snapped up to cover his mouth, muffling the sound and making Scout freeze up again. Sniper released him from the bite, but not the hand, not the knife.

“You said you’d be quiet, love,” Sniper reminded him, voice low and rough and even, and for a few seconds Scout was left whimpering on the exhale of his near-panic panting. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

A tiny little noise into Sniper’s palm, albiet a much quieter one, following an almost apologetic slide of tongue against the lines there, a hot throb that made Sniper’s pulse hammer. Sniper gave him another moment before shifting the hand on his mouth, sliding his index and pointer finger between Scout’s lips. Scout opened his mouth to suck on them obligingly, now gone quiet and still again, and Sniper decided to reward his good behavior, even if only a little.

He shifted his grip on the knife. Scout shivered.

The knife trailed down to lie flat against the space just below Scout’s ribs, and Sniper unfortunately had to remove his fingers from Scout’s mouth before they could move forward. He reached to tug Scout’s briefs out of the way, taking hold of him—so hard he was surely aching, already practically throbbing in Sniper’s hand—and taking a few moments longer just to tease.

Scout’s hips bucked forward and Sniper’s grip on the knife shifted.

Scout went stock-still as the knife shifted to instead lie with the sharpest part just across the space above his hipbones, and he seemed to quickly realize what Sniper had done.

He was forced to stay completely still as Sniper slowly, steadily tugged him off, unable to buck or shift or do any of the general writhing and squirming he tended to do in bed, giving and taking in equal measure. Instead he had to stay entirely still or else risk hurting himself on the knife across his body.

And Sniper could feel the strain it put on him, the tremble migrating down his thighs, the sweat slicking his hair down against his neck. And all he could do was try and breathe through it, try and control his noises, his everything.

And it took a while before Scout finished, but not quite as long as Sniper had thought it would. And Scout managed to choke down his noises even as he twitched hard in Sniper’s hand, even as it clearly hit him so much harder and longer than even Sniper was used to seeing, and he continued to throb for long moments even after the crux of it was over.

And then Scout was relaxed against him, and Sniper traced the knife in loose circles against him for just a few more moments to hear his overwrought little hitches of breathing before pushing Scout to sit up and slicing the ropes from his wrists.

“Good?” Sniper asked, and the fact that Scout couldn’t even get the words back to reply properly was proof enough for him.


	54. Engineer/Spy, Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

The Engineer was making a mess and Spy wished he could say he didn’t love it.

Every part of this was just so unapologetically _messy_. The sawdust surely getting all over his clothes, the smell of metal and gasoline in the air from the machinery around them, and most of all the feeling of spit dripping against Spy’s groin and down his thighs. It was starting to make him lose his mind, how loose everything felt, practically aimless, including the wandering of his own thoughts even as his lover sucked him off slow and languid.

The stubble of the Engineer’s head beneath his fingertips—when had he taken off his gloves, and why, why was he getting so careless—was a texture he was rapidly getting enthralled with. He stroked almost mindlessly, and somewhere he decided he should nag the Engineer about shaving sometime soon, only for that thought to rapidly disappear alongside all others when he sank forward and started bobbing his head.

You’d think it would be difficult to get a Frenchman to blush, but apparently all it took was the slick series of noises that the Engineer made around him, lewd and loud and making tension rocket through him faster than anything. Embarrassment like a smack in the face, largely overshadowed by how _good_ it felt, how well the Engineer apparently knew how to use his lips and tongue to make Spy’s head absolutely spin.

And he tried to warn the Engineer to pull off, to pull back, that he was close, but he just wouldn’t quit, and Spy spilled into his mouth with a messy series of bucks—what happened to his self-control?—and then he was left to sink back against the table again, breath hard and fast, sweaty beneath the mask and craving a cigarette.

And the Engineer kissed him, and he was so out of it that it took him almost five seconds to realize he could taste himself on the man’s tongue, and he was appalled with himself as he realized he didn’t mind it.

This man was going to ruin him, he was sure of it. And why on earth did he want that so badly?


	55. Demo/Sniper/Scout, Schoolgirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for scout being basically tricked into wearing the outfit)

They heard Scout exclaim “Jesus H. _fuckin’_ Christ,” from the bathroom, which set them both to grinning, only for it to redouble when Scout stomped out of the bathroom.

“You fuckers said it would be _funny_ ,” Scout accused right off the bat, and in their defense, Demo was practically rolling with laughter.

“Well, bloody hilarious, isn’t it?” Sniper said smugly, eyeing him up, all the way from the bottom of his stockings up to the collar of the vaguely-tacky extremely-revealing schoolgirl outfit.

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to wear this to a Halloween party?!” Scout demanded, hands on his hips.

“Confidently,” Demo supplied, sitting back up, also to ogle him.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Scout scoffed. “Where the fuck did you even get this costume, huh?”

Demo picked up the magazine from the bedside table and handed it over. “Mundy’s idea,” he said simply. Scout took one look in it before making a noise of disbelief and taking three steps forward to close the distance, rolling it up to thwack Sniper upside the head.

“Animal,” he chided, even as Sniper laughed. “I’m not wearin’ this.”

“Aww, please?” Demo half-whined, and Scout glared at him.

“No!” he said, even more resolute than before, even as he leaned into Demo’s curious touches to the fabric. “First of all, I dunno if we even _have_ an HR department, but if I show up in this, Miss P is gonna _make_ one.”

“Right,” Sniper admitted, stroking hands up Scout’s thighs.

“Second of all, every year Merasmus shows up to fuck with us, you really think it’s a good idea to run around tryin’ to beat up a wizard in this? I’ll fuckin’ die,” Scout said, even as his voice started to falter with their hands’ exploration, cut off momentarily as Demo tilted his head up for a brief kiss. “It’s—it’s such a stupid idea.”

“Right,” Demo hummed, and kissed him again.

Scout was visibly distracted from his train of thought, only snapping back to it a few seconds after Demo pulled back away again. “And, uh… and…” he tried, and trailed at the feeling of Sniper’s thumbs tracing over the divots of his hips, leaning absentmindedly into the attention. “And I’ll… look all like an idiot, and…”

Demo kissed him again, and Scout leaned into it, eyes falling shut, and Demo had to hold in a chuckle when he felt Scout’s gasp against his lips as one of Sniper’s hands moved around his thigh to find a grip on his ass. Scout ended up clinging to Demo’s shoulders, tilting his head and deepening the kiss as best he could, fully distracted under both of their attention.

Well… nearly distracted. Because they were well on their way to turning Scout into a shivery heap before the younger man suddenly went tense. Demo pulled back. Sniper went still.

“Wait a second,” Scout said slowly, tone suddenly full of suspicion. “…You two didn’t even actually want me to wear this to the Halloween party. You just wanted me to wear it _now_.”

Silence from the both of them.

“You _fuckin’_ assholes,” Scout scoffed angrily, so absolutely and completely offended and affronted, and stormed back into the bathroom despite the chaotic mix of apologies and laughter from the two of them, slamming the door behind himself.


	56. Sniper/Scout, Overconfident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for scout being pushed pretty hard, but everything in this is entirely consensual)

“H-how long has it been?” Scout managed to choke out, falling still.

Sniper checked the stopwatch. “Eight minutes, twenty-two seconds,” he hummed, and grinned at Scout’s groan of frustration.

Scout was kneeling on the bed, fully naked with his arms tied tight behind his back, and the rules were simple. Scout had to ride the toy he’d picked for twenty-five minutes before Sniper would touch him, fuck him, whichever one he asked for (likely both), the catch being that the stopwatch would only be going for as long as Scout was in motion. So far he’d stopped twice, and each time Sniper had teased that he really wasn’t living up to that “endless stamina” brag that he’d made to get himself into this mess.

Scout took a few breaths to steady himself, chest shiny with sweat, flushed up to his ears, and glanced back over at Sniper. Sniper readied the stopwatch and clicked it back into motion just a split-second after Scout.

The show was lovely. Watching the flex and strain of Scout’s thighs as he rolled his hips, the way his head kept teetering, threatening to fall back, his parted hips and heaving chest as he moved, the way his shoulders jolted every time he tried to hold back a noise—all of it. He found himself watching Scout’s cock bobbing with his movements, entranced by the dribble of precum that leaked down his shaft slowly but steadily, rushed along by a twitch.

Art in motion, practically. More gorgeous than he had any right to be.

But not for very long, before he gasped hard and rolled to a halt, not terribly suddenly. Sniper clicked the stopwatch.

“How long?” Scout panted.

“Eleven fifteen,” Sniper hummed.

“Left?” Scout asked hopefully, looking over with wide but hazy eyes.

“In,” Sniper corrected, and huffed a laugh as Scout’s head sank, expression falling with disbelief.

“I’ve been at this longer than eleven minutes!” he accused, voice a whine.

“You have,” Sniper confirmed, consulting the watch again. “Fifteen seconds longer, in fact.”

Scout mumbled something that sounded very much like a “fuck you”. Sniper responded by standing from his seat and striding forward the two steps needed to close the distance between the two of them, seizing Scout by the jaw to force him to look up at him.

Already that had Scout back to panting full-force, lips parted and shiny. “What was that?” he asked, voice low. Scout met his gaze, grinning just a little bit at the danger in his tone.

“Nothin’, sir,” he said faux-innocently.

“Just because you’re frustrated,” Sniper said slowly, patiently, “that doesn’t mean you get to be sharp with me. Lucky I’m letting you come at all, aren’t you?”

Scout’s eyelashes fluttered a little bit at the threat. “Yes, sir,” he murmured obediently.

“Good.” Sniper stroked his thumb up over Scout’s bottom lip, eyes flicking between that and Scout’s gaze. “Ought to punish you for mouthing off.”

“Maybe,” Scout agreed, looking a little eager.

“Hm.” Sniper dug the nail of his thumb into Scout’s bottom lip, enjoying the feeling of his breath stuttering against Sniper’s skin in response for the three seconds before he let up and stepped back again. “Maybe after your twenty-five minutes.”

Scout’s face fell as he realized his ploy hadn’t worked. Sniper took his seat again, readied the stopwatch in his hand again. Scout pouted for a few moments before sighing hard and settling back into motion.

He managed to keep going until fifteen minutes and forty seconds before he studdered to a halt again, thighs trembling, starting to whimper on every exhale. “Snipes, please,” he pleaded, more earnest than before.

“Nearly sixteen minutes,” Sniper replied. “More than halfway there.”

Scout forced himself to breathe evenly. Jolted into motion. He didn’t even last another thirty seconds before he stalled out again, whining high in his throat. “Please,” he half-sobbed, and his distress only heightened when he looked over and saw that Sniper had popped the button on his pants at some point. “Please, c’mon, at least let me suck you off!”

“Maybe once you’re done. But you can’t just go in bouts of thirty seconds,” Sniper chided, standing and moving over again, carding a hand back through Scout’s sweat-dampened hair. “Thought you said this would be easy.”

“It’s—it’s easy, it’s so easy!” Scout insisted, voice still wavering. “I just—c’mon!”

“Keep moving,” Sniper directed, not even a shred of hesitation in his tone, and Scout squeezed his eyes shut, shivering as he did as directed.

Sniper kept that hand in his hair, watching Scout move for a few long moments. Glanced over his expression, the way he was throbbing and dripping all over his thighs and stomach as his erection bobbed. Leaned to get a look at the way the toy so easily sunk into him.

His brow furrowed. He looked at Scout’s face again.

“You can take it deeper than that,” he noted, and saw the muscle in Scout’s expression tighten. “Thought you could get away with just teasing yourself? You know better.”

“Please,” Scout managed through gritted teeth rather than answering, not daring to open his eyes, whole expression screwed up. “Fuck, please, I, I can’t, I _—ngh.”_

Sniper slid the hand from his hair to instead grip at the back of his neck, pushing down hard and making Scout sink down fully, much faster than he’d clearly been expecting. Scout yelped, going stiff, and again at an even higher volume when Sniper hauled him up and did it again.

“Good boy,” Sniper teased, voice dark, all but forcing Scout into a faster and harder rhythm.

Scout seemed to be choking on a protest, stammering and breathing hard and keening and trying to swallow down the excess saliva that threatened to drip from his mouth when it was curved open around his moaning. It wasn’t until he finally opened his eyes for a second and looked up at Sniper that he processed the panic in Scout’s expression, the nature of his desperation.

He then watched, enraptured and surprised, as Scout unraveled with something near to a full shout, coming untouched—and making a mess of himself, too, clearly hit hard, shaking and clenching his teeth. Scout rocked hard to roll himself through it, then he was sinking back into Sniper’s grip, panting and moaning through an aftershock, practically boneless.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Scout looked stunned, if still clearly dizzied. Sniper imagined his own expression was fairly similar.

“Well,” Sniper managed, sure he was harder than he’d ever been in his life, free hand coming up to wipe away a drip of drool from the corner of Scout’s mouth. “That’s new.”

Scout’s groan was enough to let Sniper know that he was aware of what he’d just gotten himself into. At least a little bit.


	57. Sniper/Spy, Manhandled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for manhandling, for obvious reasons)

Spy was gasping hard for each breath, head tilted to one side as if he was trying to hide. As if he _could_ hide from Sniper like this.

Every move and change of position that night had been done by Sniper, physically flipping or lifting or hauling or tossing Spy where he wanted him to go. Spy’s snide remarks about this rough treatment—more for his pride than anything else—had faded into nothing around the time that Sniper had torn off half the buttons of his shirt and popped the stitching around the shoulders in his pulling it off of Spy, and had faded into Spy urging him on around the time he left fingerprint bruises against the back of Spy’s thighs as he sucked Spy to full hardness, and into wordless little noises of pleasure shortly after he was flipped over onto his hands and knees, spread apart to expose him to Sniper’s mouth.

Even simple throbs of his tongue against his entrance were enough to wrench noises from the other man when he was all worked up like this. And when he slipped in his thumb, not even as far as the first knuckle, Spy all but sobbed.

It made a kind of sense, Spy’s fascination with being pushed around and marked up. In his daily life and in his work it was brutality thinly masked with the idea of subtlety—why would he be any different in the bedroom?

Sniper eased back and up to suck a mark into the back of Spy’s hip, enjoyed the noise of dismay that Spy made at the sudden lack of attention where he most craved it. He wasn’t left alone for long, Sniper ducking back down with renewed enthusiasm and sinking his thumb deeper just to get a whine, other hand moving beneath Spy to take hold of his aching member just to hear that whine rise into a moan.

At first, Sniper had admittedly assumed that Spy was the type to be coaxed into falling to pieces, caressed and kissed and gentled and romanced until he was something soft and sweet. But apparently, as he’d learned, he was wrong.

He pulled back enough to employ his teeth against Spy’s inner thigh, biting hard enough to get his message across as Spy writhed too much for his liking, and only went back to work licking the other man open once he was nice and still.

No, Spy wanted to be _ripped_ apart. He wanted to be forced open, physically and emotionally, he wanted to be bitten and scratched and fucked with no mercy at all, he wanted to be _used_ , he wanted to be _destroyed_ , and well, luckily for him Sniper was the destroying type.

Two fingers, up to the knuckles, along with a series of tugs probably bordering on too-rough, and Spy was splattering the sheets, crying out helplessly as he was worked through it like it was a demand. Sniper only pulled his fingers out when Spy started fighting against his grip in earnest, and Sniper help back a laugh as Spy all but collapsed into the sheets, into the mess.

And later, he would catch hell for it, when Spy got his brains back enough to remember things like pride and dignity. But for now, they both knew this was exactly what Spy wanted.


	58. Medic/Scout, Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for overstimulation and medical talk)

Medic clicked the button of the remote, putting it back down and picking back up his notepad. “Twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds,” he said, writing down the number as he said it aloud. “That’s an increase of almost eight minutes.”

Scout was too busy trying to catch his breath to respond, to even lift his head, the quiet noise on the tail end of every panting exhale speaking to just how destroyed he already was.

“Last time sensitivity wore off within ten minutes,” he continued, trailing one hand along the inside of one of Scout’s trembling thighs and noting how they jerked, almost as if trying to clamp closed on instinct, although the restraints didn’t quite allow it. His eyes drifted down to the toy that Scout was stuffed full of, no longer buzzing but surely weighty nonetheless. “This time may be nearer to fifteen.”

“We’re goin’ again?” Scout asked hoarsely, weakly, managing to tilt his head up just enough to look at Medic.

“Of course!” Medic said. “I thought that was obvious.”

Scout seemed to muddle his way through considering that, head thunking back against the table again. He spoke after a moment. “How many more times?”

“As many as you can take,” Medic answered, again as though it were obvious.

“Can I at least get some water?” he asked weakly, and Medic tsk’d, patting him on the thigh again.

“ _Nein_ , I’m afraid not. Not until we’re done here,” he replied. Scout’s pout was endearing enough that Medic continued. “Although I must say, this has been very impressive so far.”

Scout lifted his head to look at him again. “Really?” he asked, eyes lighting up.

“Indeed. Not many can muster up the energy for a second round after spending time on a toy like this,” he said, drifting fingertips down to brush against the base of the toy, noting how even a small amount of pressure made Scout shiver all the more. “It would seem I’ll need to push harder if I want to find your limits.”

“Damn right,” Scout said a little breathlessly, and already his cockiness was back in action, grinning at him like Medic didn’t have him tied to an examination table and made all but helpless, as if Medic hadn’t already pulled him to pieces twice and was gearing up for a third. “Bet I could take a bigger toy than this, too. You said you’ve got all kinds of crazy shit, right?”

“No, this is the control test, Scout,” Medic reminded him, “I won’t be changing the toy that is used.”

Scout pouted again. This time he wasn’t rewarded for it, and instead was sent to toss his head back, crying out and going tense, as Medic took hold of the base of the toy and gave it a pull, a push, just to wipe that look off of Scout’s face.

“Maybe if you’re good, we can try a bigger toy next time, _ja?_ ” Medic asked, looking up at Scout again.

“Yeah,” Scout breathed, and his dick was twitching, and Medic raised an eyebrow as he glanced back at the clock. Not even five minutes and he was getting hard again.

Interesting. He’d need to explore that further. So many variables to test, and apparently he’d found a _very_ excited participant.


	59. Sniper/Spy, Cloaked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

It was common that things would happen on accident in the general bustle of movement that occurred whenever Spy… ‘dropped by’. Knocked over coffee mugs, hastily set aside weapons discharging, and the occasional broken crate or table weren’t particularly strange.

This was a new one.

Sniper had shoved Spy’s wandering hands back against the crate, pinning them on either side of his head as he pushed in, grinning at the way his expression went from mischievous to gasping in the space of a second, only for his grin to fall away as Spy fizzled out of view beneath him after a few moments of trying to find a good angle, a good rhythm.

Ah. He’d bumped his watch, apparently.

He found himself transfixed, awed by the sight before him. Every place that he and Spy were touching he watched the gradient of invisibility fading through him, making his hands threaten to disappear from view, whittling away at his sides where Spy’s thighs pressed into him. Curiosity momentarily overtook lust and made him lean forward to mouth at where he was pretty sure Spy’s neck was meant to be, nosing against his skin, and he watched with fascination as the contact made his nose and lips disappear in his periphery.

But Spy was making all these intoxicating little bit-off noises, so he relented to instead return to pounding the smug out of him like he’d sworn to do earlier.

It took him a long few moments before he noticed the most bizarrely sexy part of this little accident, distracted as he was by his disappearing hands and by keeping at least somewhat quiet just in case they alerted anyone to what they were doing. He glanced down between them out of habit and blinked in surprise.

Usually he found himself all the more dialed up at the sight of himself thrusting into Spy, at watching Spy take it—or watching how Spy fucked him, when they occasionally turned the tables—but this time he was practically hypnotized by the sight of his dick quite literally disappearing into Spy.

He couldn’t bite back his groan in time, head tipping forward and eyes falling closed as his pleasure kicked up a notch into something even more intense, and he pounded hard, mesmerized by the clap of his body against one that he couldn’t see.

He needed to release one of Spy’s hands to tug him off as Spy grew desperate, fumbling slightly with finding where exactly Spy’s member was, and neither of them lasted much longer than that, and he heard Spy’s orgasm moments after he reached his own.

Panting, breathing hard. After a long moment, a curse in French, then Spy gingerly pulling his other hand from Sniper’s grip and the very soft sound of a beep.

Sniper opened his eyes to watch for Spy to fade back into view, and grinned at how dubauched he looked, at the splatter of cum across his stomach and up his sternum. “How long was my cloak on for?” Spy asked, voice uneven as he tried to pull himself together.

“Whole time,” Sniper replied, mopping a thumb through the mess and licking it off teasingly, and Spy had to break eye contact, flustered by such a display.

“I hope it wasn’t too unnerving,” Spy murmured.

“Think I’ll live,” Sniper chuckled, making a mental note to bump Spy’s watch at some point again in the future.


End file.
